THE FIRST DUTY

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 9

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #9: The First Duty

Copyright © 2014 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: November 2014

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

THE ships destroy us above

 And ensnare us beneath.

We arise, we lie down, and we move

 In the belly of Death.

The ships have a thousand eyes

 To mark where we come...

But the mirth of a seaport dies

 When our blow gets home.

The Tin Fish, Rudyard Kipling

Chapter One

 There was no sensory stimulation in the prisoner’s cell. Grey walls, no windows, the light at a constant level, no smells other than a steady scent of pine piped in through the silent air conditioning. All he had to distract him was a drip of water from the ceiling, ostensibly from a leaking pipe, but he suspected in fact intentional. It landed on a grille, heading back into a constantly repeating loop, one which had persisted since he had been deposited in here.

 At first, he’d tried to count it, but given up quickly. He had no sense of time, only measured by the meals he’d eaten since he had arrived – eighteen of them, all identical in every way, and he suspected, served at irregular intervals. It might have been days, weeks, he couldn’t say. His past, his comrades on Alamo, seemed to be fading away as if from a dream he could barely remember, and he tried to snatch at those memories, hold them tight, though he knew safety would lie in losing them.

 He’d been waiting to be questioned since he’d arrived, since the helicopter had landed at the great domed city and the guards had taken him through the streets. The crowd – likely stimulated by the encouragement of his captors – had booed and jeered him as he passed through, not a memory he wanted to savor.

 The curse was that he didn’t know if he was the only prisoner here from his ship. He’d given his life – been happy to give his life – to give the others a chance, but he would like to know whether it had all been worthwhile. His cell was well soundproofed, not a trace of noise coming in from outside, and even if his friends were screaming at him from the other side, he wouldn’t have heard them.

 Last night, he had dreamed of escape, had imagined that Sergeant Forrest and a platoon of Espatiers had turned up, broken him out of the cell, and taken him back to Alamo. He’d woken up just as they stepped aboard the shuttle, and for the first time since his capture, he had cried. Until then he had managed not to give his captors that victory.

 Surely they weren’t going to keep him here forever. They’d seek to use him, one way or another, to either sell him into indentured servitude or use him as a bargaining tool with the Confederation. Or even just parade him around for domestic propaganda. This limbo wasn’t serving anyone’s purpose.

 During basic training, he’d been given the usual instruction on how to resist capture, but it had almost seemed like a game back then. Both the United Nations and the Lunar Republic – as well as the Triplanetary Confederation, naturally – were signatories to the Treaty of Pallas, pledged to treat prisoners well, lest they become hostages to the goodwill of the other party. He’d almost enjoyed the training on one level, sergeants barking at him, trying to confuse and trick him, but no-one had ever imagined that they would need these skills for real.  Back then, no-one had heard of the Cabal.

 At least Alamo had given them a bloody nose. He could be satisfied with that much. Local space was littered with smashed starships, a Cabal task force either damaged or destroyed. Whatever else happened, they had managed to deal them a blow that would not be easily or quickly redeemed. The cost had been high, far too high, but ultimately, it had been worth the trip. Nor did he regret coming here; if someone had told him what the price of rescuing the Espatiers would have been, he would still have paid it, and gladly. Though he wished that the dripping would stop.

 Then, a crack appeared in the door, a line of white light that ran from floor to ceiling, and he struggled up to his feet as a pair of shapes walked into the room, both of them carrying folding chairs under their arms. Both of them were the same height, one with a prominent hooked nose, the other with a nasty scar under one eye – perhaps the aftermath of an interrogation gone wrong.

 “At last we have reached your case,” Scar said with a sneer, while Hook Nose arranged the chairs in a loose circle, gesturing for Marshall to take a seat. With a smile, he walked around to the door, and sat down with his back to Scar, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge the calculated defiance.

 “You will I hope excuse the prolonged delay, but we are overstocked at the moment with prisoners,” he continued. “Our records list you as Prisoner Thirteen, so I think that will serve as an appropriate designation.”

 “Under the terms of the Treaty of Pallas, all I am required to give you is my name, rank and serial number.”

 “Never heard of that treaty,” Scar said with a sneer.

 “I’m afraid, Thirteen, that those three pieces of information do not interest us in the slightest. Let me get the preliminaries out of the way first; have you been treated well? Food provided at regular intervals? Any medical issues I should be aware of?”

 “Your doctor gave me a full examination when I was brought in.”

 “Please, Thirteen, I must have your co-operation if we are to expedite this process.”

 Scar looked over, and said, “Some of what we do can have physical side-effects.”

 “Would this be a good time to tell you both that I took courses in resisting torture and interrogation theory?”

 “Theories are wonderful, but this is the real world now,” Scar replied. “We will break you. It might just take a little longer, that’s all.”

 “We’d rather not put you through any of that. If you simply choose to answer some of our questions, then we might arrange for better treatment, more variety of food, even some limited freedoms. Many things are possible with your co-operation,” Hook Nose said.

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Good cop, bad cop. We’ve evidently read the same manuals. Which also make it quite clear that physical torture is essentially useless at providing information that can be trusted.”

 His two interrogators looked at each other, exchanging smiles, and Scar said, “Perhaps you will be interesting after all, Thirteen. You see, what your manuals do not make as clear as perhaps they should, is that physical torture, while useless for extracting information, is often very effective at breaking the will of the subject.”

 “This is something we both have experience of,” Hook Nose said. “Though I stress again that if you co-operate fully, none of that will be necessary.” 

 “You will end up doing what we say,” Scar added. “So you might as well save yourself a lot of unpleasantness and time, and get on with it.”

 “That’s interesting. You see, I have all the time in the world; I don’t exactly have a duty shift to report to,” Marshall said. “On the other hand, I am getting the impression that the two of you have a rather tight schedule to keep, and it is in your interests to secure a quick result.”

 “Not true, Thirteen, not true. We can be here for a month if needed,” Hook Nose said. “Do not doubt that we mean everything we say.”

 “We already have much information,” Scar said. “I know your name, service history, place of birth, about your mission...let us just say that we would like you to confirm certain details.”

 “Would you.”

 “Indeed. For example, we are aware that you were dispatched on a mission to gain intelligence about the Cabal,” Hook Nose said, “and that these orders came directly from the President.”

 “Did they?” he replied. “Wow.”

 “Further, we know that this mission is not official, that you have not been declared overdue, and that no-one is coming looking for you. You are dependent on our mercy.”

 “Why does that not fill me with confidence?”

 “We can be merciful, and are inclined to be. If we break you, then you are useless to us. A shattered shell is nothing, but if you decide to provide us with assistance, then you will have the opportunity to enjoy it.”

 Leaning back on his chair, he said, “You both have me at a disadvantage. You know everything there is to know about me, it seems, but I don’t even know your names.”

 “That isn’t necessary information,” Scar said.

 “Why, are you scared of the war crimes tribunal? I know something you don’t, and I’m more than willing to share that information with you.”

 “And that is?”

 “That when you decide to go to war with us, we’re going to win. Nothing I’ve seen gives me any doubt of our victory, certainly not this comic opera display. If you are going to do something to me, please get on with it and stop talking about it. I’m not going to give you any information just because you ask for it.”

 “A pity,” Hook Nose said. “Perhaps Lieutenant Orlova will be more willing to co-operate, or Spaceman Bradley.”

 He started to giggle, drawing dark stares from his interrogators, and said, “If you think you are having trouble with me, I’d love to see you tackle Orlova. Yes, I wish you the very best of luck with that interrogation, gentlemen. You are certainly going to need it.”

 Scar shook his head, and replied, “I find it hard to believe that you are so unconcerned about the fate of friends and shipmates.”

 “I find it just as hard to believe that you have them in custody, but even if you do, both of them are serving in the Triplanetary Fleet, and both of them are volunteers. They knew the risks they were running, and accepted them. Knowing them as I do, I am certain they will comport themselves honorably. Please, by all means, go and talk to them. I can wait.”

 The two of them stood up in unison and walked from the room, the door slamming shut behind them, while the prisoner continued to chuckle to himself, trying to mask a growing wave of fear that was building in his gut. The suspicion that Orlova and Bradley might have been captured, that they were not bluffing, was building in the back of his mind; if they were, then his sacrifice had been for nothing. Worse, he would have seen his friends stuck in the same situation as he was.

 At least he was giving his interrogators some reason to be embarrassed. He was well aware that his every move was being closely monitored, and hopefully the tapes would circulate for some time afterwards, a thought that gave him a little cheer. If it inspired his captors to greater heights of brutality, in an odd way, that was fine as well. They’d be getting to that stage anyway, it seemed.

 This at least indicated to him that he was a special case. The prisoners they had rescued had simply been treated for their wounds in preparation for being sold into indentured servitude, nothing more or less. Freeing them so publicly must have been hard for the Cabal to explain to its people.

 The door opened again, and the two figures, fresh resolution on their faces, stepped over the threshold and resumed their seats. Hook Nose stared at him, while Scar pulled out a Triplanetary datapad and started to read, before looking up.

 “Let us cut right to the heart of the matter. Where is Alamo?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “That is a lie. You must know. Where is Alamo?”

 “I really couldn’t tell you where it is now. Probably back at Mariner Station.”

 Shaking his head, Hook Nose replied, “I find it unlikely that your shipmates would have stranded you in our territory with no way back, no support, no assistance. It is far more likely that you have arranged to meet up at some special location. Where is it?”

 “Mariner Station. We’re all going to have drinks together. I’m afraid the guest list is full, though.”

 Scar stood up, looming over him, and said, “Where is Alamo? You will tell us, one way or another, so get it over with now.”

 “I thought we’d already worked out that information given under duress is worthless.”

 In one quick move, Scar slapped him on the face, then yelled, “Where is it!”

 Rubbing his chin, he replied, “Losing your temper? Not a recommended interrogation technique. Your friend is no doubt about to tell me how civilized he is.”

 “We need that information. Give it to us and we will free you.”

 “Out onto the street without a respirator, no doubt.”

 “Arrange passage back to your Mariner Station. That is within our power.”

 “Tell you what,” he replied. “Take me back, and then I’ll tell you. Promise.”

 Another slap echoed through the cell, “I’m glad you find this so funny,” Scar said.

 “You are obviously enjoying it.”

 He raised his hand again, but Hook Nose looked at him, shaking his head, “This is getting us nowhere.”

 “On the contrary. Every moment I delay is another moment my friends can use to get home. So please feel free to waste all the time you want. I’ve got plenty of it spare.”

 Shaking his head, Scar replied, “We’re going to have to go to the other one.”

 “Which is it this time? Orlova or Bradley?”

 “Cantrell,” Hook Nose said, and that gave him a moment of pause. Unlike the others, he knew that Cantrell had been out on the surface, and there was every chance that she had actually been captured. How she would react under interrogation was another question entirely.

 “As with the others,” he replied, “she has received the same training I have in resisting interrogation. I doubt you will have any greater success with her than you have with me.”

 Shaking his head, Hook Nose said, “Perhaps there is another alternative. One that will not require you to give any information to us, and will lead to your immediate release.”

 “And that is?”

 “There is a studio at the far end of the corridor. You will read some lines on camera, we will record them, and then you can go home.”

 “No.”

 “Think about it,” Scar said, leaning over him. “You will not have to say anything that is not true. You have committed crimes against the Cabal, acts that could even be defined as terrorism.”

 “We freed slaves.”

 “Does your legal code not indicate that you are subject to the laws of the world upon which the crime was committed? We are well within our rights.”

 Folding his arms, he said, “I concede that. Feel free to put me on trial, though please spare me the defense attorney. I don’t see any need to waste someone’s time.”

 “Our justice system…”

 “Is demonstrably poor,” he replied. “There is no need to waste time on talking. I will not make the recording you suggest, not unless I can write my own script.”

 “And permit you to place codewords in the text?” Scar said. “Not a chance. How stupid do you think we are?”

 “I can only go by my experience.”

 Another slap, but he managed to maintain his grin while Hook Nose sighed, saying, “In a few moments, I will be compelled to call my medical colleagues in, and you will be injected with a veritable cornucopia of drugs. I have little faith that they will be successful, and they will have severe physical side-effects, but that is the prescribed next step. This is your last chance to spare yourself that.”

 “He won’t,” Scar said. “He’s just going to talk himself into a coffin.”

 Looking up, he replied, “Then I win, and you lose. My value to my people is greatest with my silence, and we all know that. Perhaps I will talk, but it will take time, and that is the one thing you lack.”

 Shaking his head, Hook Nose replied, “I will be leaving now. It will not surprise me in the slightest to see that you have acquired some more bruises upon my return; I fear you have antagonized my associate.”

 “It will be a pleasure,” Scar leered.

 The door burst open again, and another figure walked through, barking out in a familiar voice, “If you so much as touch him, I will have you shot.”

 Scar turned and looked up at the newcomer, saying, “This is our prisoner.”

 “Not any more,” the figure replied. “He is now under my custody.” There was something familiar about the voice.

 “Since when?”

 “Since two minutes ago. Captain Marshall, are you alright?” the Commandant said, stepping forward into the light.

 “A few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious.”

Turning to Hook Nose, the Commandant said, “This was stupid and pointless. Your techniques are ineffective at best. I saw the footage, he ran rings around you!”

 “Some consider our techniques extremely effective.”

 “I would not take the word of the ignorant as seriously as you appear to do.” Reaching a hand down to Marshall, he helped him to his feet. “You are coming with me.”

 “Where to?”

 “Another secure facility, I fear, though I venture you will find your stay there rather more luxurious than this has been. My apologies for my tardiness; I only arrived in orbit this morning.”

 “What about the other prisoners?” Marshall asked.

 With a barking laugh, the Commandant replied, “You are the only one we caught. That I promise.”

 The two of them began to walk out of the room, but Marshall paused at the door, turning to his interrogators, and said, “What I told you was true. One day you will be prisoners of the Confederation, and I promise you this. You will be treated properly, and in accordance with all international conventions. There will be no revenge for this.”

 “Don’t make me laugh,” Scar said. “You’d do the same as we did. Or your minions would.”

 “Then in that case, you had better fear what is to come.”

Chapter Two

 Orlova floated in the middle of her cabin, cross-legged, reading the report on her datapad again and again, going over every detail of their mission for one last time, trying to work out if there was anything she could have done differently. Giving the order to leave behind Captain Marshall had been the hardest decision she had ever made, and reading the after-action reports was just making it come alive for her all over again.

 Her second command, the freighter Ouroboros, was coasting home through hendecaspace, and in less than a quarter of an hour, she was going to have to tell Major Marshall that his son was missing, presumed dead, and that she had given the order that had condemned him, to flee the system rather than attempt a rescue. She played the decision over and over again in her mind, trying to work out if she could have done anything differently, but there was nothing. The freighter just wasn’t fast enough to snatch him into safety and escape pursuit.

 Of course, an inability to work out a way to save the day did not mean that it wasn’t possible. It just meant that she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t experienced enough to think of an answer. Caine’s report, submitted this morning, recommended immediate court-martial proceedings on the grounds of dereliction of duty, and she couldn’t bring herself to disagree with the conclusion.

 The voyage home should have been triumphant, a glorious return with their mission accomplished, the captured Espatiers rescued, but it had felt more like a funeral procession. Captain Marshall and Corporal Cooper, the two people who had inspired their expedition, were both lost, the former left to burn up on a falling defense satellite, the latter shot in the back as he tried to get away.

 Cantrell was gone too, stranded too far from the shuttle when they had been forced to take off. Given the situation on the battlefield, she didn’t rate her odds of survival that highly. As the alternative was being sold into slavery, she wasn’t sure which option to hope for. Three people left behind, thirteen rescued. And none of the ones they had lost had even known that they had been successful, that their sacrifice had been worthwhile.

 She looked up at the clock, watched it slowly tick off the seconds before they emerged back into normal space at Hydra Station. At least then all of this would be over, and she could return to her normal duties. Twice now she had been thrown into a position of command, both times against her will, and both times it had been traumatic. Her first command, Hercules, was now a collection of floating debris in free orbit, and the one key decision she had made during her second had condemned three of her friends to death, or worse.

 Still fourteen minutes to go. She had to think of something to say to Major Marshall, something that might explain what happened, might tell him what his son’s sacrifice had meant; she couldn’t pass that responsibility onto anyone else. Letters to Cooper and Cantrell’s parents were already stored in the databank for transmission when Alamo got home; she’d go and see them herself, as soon as she got back, as difficult a thing as that was going to be. Her dead shipmates were owned that much.

 Clicking a button, she pushed back to the start of her report, going back from the top. She’d spent most of the trip home revising and rewriting it, and there was nothing else she planned to do to it, but she wanted to keep it alive in her mind, as though she might think of something else, some way to bring back the dead, or at least keep hold of their memories. As she read, the door chimed.

 “Who is it?” she yelled.

 “Frank,” Nelyubov replied. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

 “Sure,” she said, releasing the lock on the door. “I ought to be on my way up to the bridge anyway.”

 The door slid open, and he drifted in, taking a position opposite her on the wall. He looked around the cabin, then down to her, and shook his head.

 “Don’t take this the wrong way, Maggie, but you look like hell.”

 “Thanks.”

 “You’ve spent too much time in here. It isn’t healthy.”

 “Why shouldn’t I?”

 He glanced down at the datapad, and said, “They’re dead, Maggie. Maybe not Cantrell, though she might by now wish she was. There is nothing you can do about it, and nothing that you could have done about it.”

 “I missed something. I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t quick enough.”

 “There was nothing you could have done differently. We were improvising, moving too quickly. What’s important is that we completed our mission, and there are a dozen people down below decks who owe their lives to what we did back there. Go ask them if it was worth it.”

 Turning away, she replied, “I’m not questioning that. The cost, though, the cost was too damn high. More than it had to be. Especially the Captain.”

 “That again?”

 “I should have been the one to go.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “You’d been shot in the arm, Maggie! I was surprised enough that you made it up to the bridge at all. You just didn’t have the strength to do it. None of the Espatiers were up to it either. The Captain knew exactly what he was doing, and when he took that jump, he knew it was a one-way flight. Damn it, he ordered you to go!”

 “But I was in command.”

 “If Caine had been in command, if we’d gone back to rescue the Captain, all of us would have been captured. That isn’t theory, that is fact. You’ve got to realize that. Then what Cooper did back on the surface, and Cantrell as well, would have been thrown away.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why are you sitting here obsessing about it?”

 “Because in about a quarter of an hour, I’m going to have to tell a father that I left his son behind to die. When we had the option to get him back. Hell, we could have sent the shuttle…”

 “Which would have saved him in order for the Cabal to capture him, as well as whoever had been piloting him. The Captain wouldn’t have wanted someone to throw their freedom away for him like that, would he?”

 “I could have asked for volunteers.”

 “You didn’t have the right to do that, and you know that. Which is why you gave the order you did, and why you got the whole crew away. No-one blames you for that.”

 “What about Caine?”

 He sighed, and said, “We both know that she’s a special case. Once she gets hold of herself, she’ll understand. She and Marshall had been close for years, and it can be difficult to hold on to your objectivity sometimes.”

 Orlova’s communicator chirped, and she pulled it over to her ear, “Orlova here. Go ahead.”

 “Bridge here,” Race’s voice replied. “Five minutes to emergence.”

 “I’m on my way. Out.” She looked up at Nelyubov, and said, “Shall we get this over with?”

 As she drifted through the door, he put his hand on her elbow, and said, “He’s a fair man, Maggie. He’ll take it hard, but he will take it.”

 She looked at him, nodded, and said, “Let’s go.”

 The trip to the bridge was a silent one. They rode up in the elevator with a pair of technicians, but no-one even attempted any small talk; when they reached the bridge, Caine was waiting for them, and she threw Orlova an icy stare.

 “You have the bridge, I suppose,” she said, as Orlova settled into her chair.

 “Time to emergence, Mr. Race?” Orlova asked, trying to ignore the eyes glaring into her back.

 “Two minutes, ten seconds, ma’am.”

 It had been six weeks since they’d left, and they had no way of knowing what was waiting for them here at Hydra Station. Alamo had been in need of major repairs, and would have been defenseless in the event of an attack. A full-sized Cabal fleet could be waiting to ambush them as soon as they emerged into normal space, and there was nothing they could do about it. They’d have no opportunity to escape and evade, and would simply have to throw themselves at the dubious mercy of the enemy.

 Ninety seconds to go. She glanced across to Spinelli at the sensor station, Nelyubov hovering over his shoulder, ready to run the systems as soon as they emerged. Race, the astrogator currently sitting at the helm, had his fingers poised over the fail-safe controls, making sure that the transition would be as smooth as possible. Everyone was poised for action, but there was an underlying sense that somehow they were all just going through the motions.

 “Transition in ten seconds,” Race said.

 “All systems show green,” Nelyubov added.

 “You have the call, Mr. Race,” said Orlova.

 “Two. One. Now.”

 With a blue flash, the stars appeared on the viewscreen, a brown ball square in the middle, the planet Driftwind. A couple of the points of light nearby would be Hydra Station and Alamo, too small to properly make out from this distance, but Spinelli was already peering over his instruments. 

 “Report, Spaceman,” Orlova said.

 “Looks good. I make out Alamo, Hydra Station, a six-satellite defense grid, and a pair of shuttles in transit to the surface, I think. No sign of any other activity in system, and no sign of recent debris fields. I don’t think anything much has changed since we left.”

 Nelyubov nodded, glancing at the screen, then said, “I concur.”

 “Very well.” She might as well get this over with, before she lost what little remained of her nerve. “Hail Alamo, if you please. I want to speak to Major Marshall.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” the technician said, and he began to work his board. After a few seconds, he looked up. “They’re calling us. Major Marshall for you.” 

 Taking a deep breath, she said, “Put him on.”

 The face that appeared on the screen was strangely familiar, an older version of the person they had been forced to leave behind. Zebrova and Quinn were standing behind him, and the mood on Alamo’s bridge had been one of celebration until they saw the looks on the faces of the crew on Ouroboros, and Orlova sitting in the command chair.

 “What happened, Maggie?” the Major asked. “Where is my son?”

 “We accomplished our mission, sir. All Espatiers rescued. However, I regret to report that Captain Marshall, Corporal Cooper and Spaceman Cantrell didn’t make it back.”

 The Major’s face grew pale, and he abruptly rose to his feet and walked out of view. After a minute, Zebrova took his position, the bridge crew behind her silent.

 “How did it happen, Lieutenant?” she said.

 Looking down at the deck, Orlova replied, “We had no choice but to leave him behind. He gave his life to save the ship.” Moisture was forming around her eyes, and she looked up, continuing, “As did Cooper and Cantrell, down on the surface. It’s all in my report.” 

 Glancing behind her for a second before turning back to the screen, she replied, “You’d better get over here to present that report as soon as you can. Lieutenant Caine can bring her in.”

 “Actually, I have some testimony to present as well,” Caine said.

 “What the hell,” Nelyubov said. “I’ll get Ouroboros home.”

 “Very well, Lieutenant. I’ll see you both shortly. Alamo out.”

 Carefully, Orlova rose to her feet, and said, “You have the ship, Frank.”

 “Don’t worry. This is the easy part.”

 Without another word, she left the bridge, Caine hard on her tail, and the two of them slid into the elevator, staring at each other as it rode down to the shuttle dock. Finally, Caine broke the silence.

 “I’m going to see you court-martialed, Lieutenant. I only hope the Major gets it done immediately.”

 “Don’t you know that I would have given anything to make it different, to get him back?” 

 “Then you should have turned the ship.”

 Sighing, she replied, “If I’d done that, his sacrifice would have been for nothing. The same with Cooper and Cantrell – they gave their lives so that the Espatiers would get home. You wanted me to throw all that away?”

 “You ran. There were options.”

 “What? Send the shuttle to rescue him? That would have just doomed whoever was in that ship to capture, and the Captain along with them. How would that have helped?”

 Ostentatiously, Caine pulled out a datapad, and replied, “We’ve got a communications link to Alamo. Right now, the Major is reading my report on the situation, and I assure you that I went into great detail on your deficiencies as an officer. After this, you’ll be lucky to stay in the fleet at all, never mind as an officer.”

 As the door opened, Orlova asked, “What would you have done?”

 “I’d have turned back, and found another way to escape. We still had options.”

 “Sometimes being in the command chair means making the tough calls, Caine. I guess you never had the chance to learn that. I hope you never do.”

 She pushed off into the corridor, and slid comfortably into the pilot’s cabin, locking it down to prevent anyone else accompanying her. Her fingers darted across the keyboard as she lost herself in the easy familiarity of the take-off sequence, then feeling the jolt as she separated from the freighter, kicking the engines into full power to get her back to Alamo as soon as possible.

 Taking a last look at Ouroboros in the rear display, she shook her head. Her two commands, and so different. There were moments when she longed to be back on the bridge of Hercules, to walk those decks again. This time she never cared if she ever saw the freighter again, though she dreaded the ordeal that awaited her upon her return to Alamo.

 The navigation computer set up a steady, smooth course, but she disabled the autopilot, opting to fly the course herself; she needed the distraction of having something to do, rather than just sitting back and letting the computers do all the work for her. Her report sat on her datapad, still untransmitted, and a part of her couldn’t see the point. At the back of her mind, a part of her agreed with Caine. She had failed, and should pay the price for it. That she still couldn’t think of a way to win was irrelevant.

 Alamo looked well along the repair path, at least. Technicians were working on the hull, replacing armor plating, and a cluster of people were floating by the central laser cannon. Close by, a small satellite orbited – the first of the defense network they’d been planning to put into operation, now obviously almost finished. By the looks of it, Alamo would be heading home in a few weeks, back up to full operational capability.

 She wasn’t sure whether she would be traveling with them, though. Staying in this uniform was going to be hard enough, but remaining on Alamo would be worse; she could imagine the look on the faces of the crew when they found out what she had done. Perhaps Price would take her on as a shuttle pilot over on the station. A change of scene would be good, and she’d liked Driftwind the first time she’d been there.

 “Shuttle Three, this is Alamo,” Kibaki’s voice said.

 “You still on the spot, Joe?”

 “I don’t think I ever intend to leave Gamma Shift, Lieutenant. You have clearance to dock at your discretion; are you planning to remain on manual control?” 

 Tapping a button, she said, “I’m not feeling quite that reckless today. You have control for the docking.”

 “Acknowledged. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Senior Lieutenant Zebrova is standing by in the hangar deck.”

 “What about the Major?”

 “I don’t know. He’s still in the...in his office. Hasn’t moved since you called.”

 “I see.” 

 “For whatever it’s worth, Maggie, welcome home.”

 “Thanks.”

 Now with a mind of its own, the shuttle slowly cruised into position beneath Alamo, thrusters playing from side to side as it settled underneath the elevator airlock. The familiar echoes rang through the hull as the clamps locked into position, pulling it up into the heart of the ship, and atmosphere began to seep in around the side, lights flashing from red to amber to green as she rose to the level of the deck.

 More than a dozen people were waiting for her, shuttle technicians standing by for servicing; there were a few disapproving looks around, and Orlova realized that they had never repaired the battle damage sustained during the rescue; the outside of the shuttle must look rather battered and bruised.

 Zebrova was waiting with them, and as soon as the shuttle was resting on the deck, she walked over to the pilot’s airlock and activated it, leaning in to speak to her. There was no hint of disapproval, merely concern.

 “Permission to come aboard?” Orlova asked.

 “Granted. The Major wants to see you, as soon as possible.” As Zebrova talked, the passenger cabin opened, and Caine strode towards the elevator, ignoring the crowd that had gathered to meet her.

 “I understand,” she replied. “Looks like Caine plans to get there first.”

 “Tell me, Lieutenant. Is there anything you could have done to make it different?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I honestly can’t think of a thing, and that’s the problem. I wasn’t good enough, smart enough or quick enough.”

 “Maggie…”

 “I think the best solution is to solve this problem quickly and quietly.” She pulled out her datapad, and said, “I intend to resign my commission.”

Chapter Three

 Cooper’s eyes opened, and he looked around the now-familiar room. His first arrival there was still a haze, a distant blur in his mind; he remembered a lot of shouting, being dragged over mountains, and then nothing for days. Everything up to being shot was clear, but the rest was a series of flashes, brief glimpses, nothing more. He’d been on his own for hours, lying in a haze, but at least the pain in his back was beginning to abate. Looking across at his artificial hand, he smiled; more and more of him was metallic these days.

 He reached for a bottle of water, taking three quick sips, and then stretched, his muscles aching. The clock on the wall was ticking inexorably onward, and at the back of his mind, he wondered what had happened to Cantrell. They were still stuck in enemy territory, stranded on this ball of oil and mud, and the worry that she might have been caught was buried at the back of his mind.

 Evidently the plan had been to move out today in any case; a jumpsuit that looked about his size was draped over a chair on the far side of the room, and his pistol was carefully placed in a concealable holster nearby. The only time he had been standing up to this point was with assistance, but he felt strong enough to give it a try; he experimentally sat up, and only felt a dull pain in his back, not enough to worry him.

 Pulling the sheet away, he swung his legs down to the cold floor, and bracing himself with his arms, rose to his feet. He took a cautious step forward, and then another one, and let go of the bed. His doctor had done an excellent job, that much was certain, despite the primitive conditions he was finding himself in.

 As quickly as his stiff muscles would allow, he pulled the jumpsuit on, taking care not to overstretch his back, and buckled the holster on underneath; a small slit had been cut to allow him quick and easy access, and he made sure that the pistol lined up. He checked the sidearm – it was his pistol, and a clip of ammunition was already loaded. What had happened to his rifle or uniform, he had no idea, but his respirator was hanging up by the door. He quickly checked that it was working, then snapped it into position on his belt.

 Now he was ready for what awaited him, but he had no idea what that would be. He didn’t even know where he was – somewhere in the Smoke, presumably, the collection of shanty huts that surrounded the domed city, but the place was a maze of streets and alleys, and for all he knew, he had a bounty on his head. Someone could be waiting to shoot him as soon as he stepped outside. Or Cantrell could be doing something critical, and leaving now might complicate matters.

 He contented himself with looking around the room, trying to find anything else that might be of use. The contents of his medical kit were spread around the room, and he found a selection of stimulants, slipping them into his pocket. Another clip of ammunition followed them, and still waiting, he switched on the local terminal, tapping in for a local news feed. He was expecting a display of Cabal propaganda, but was not expecting to see the face of Captain Marshall looking back at him.

 “...held in a secure facility for questioning, under Fleet authority. It is expected that a statement will be released soon by the Proctor outlining the charges this terrorist can expect for face, and it is rumored that his trial will take place within the month. A vigil for the victims of the atrocity continues into its thirteenth day, and a spokesman said…”

 The announced was interrupted by the door opening, and Cantrell stepped in, motioning at him to turn the screen off. She looked him up and down, shaking her head, and walked over to the bed, slipping a hand under it and retrieving a fistful of notes.

 “Can you move? We need to be getting out of here as soon as possible.”

 “What happened?”

 “They raised the bounty on your head high enough that I can’t outbid them anymore. Getting you back on your feet was expensive.” She looked at him again, “I see you found your pistol.”

 “Are we going to need it?” he said, quickly popping in a couple of the stimulants from his pocket.

 “Probably. Let’s go.”

 She turned around, working the airlock mechanism – which was mechanical, Cooper noted, a collection of levers and valves, and the two of them stepped out into the street, respirators strapped carefully to their faces. They were at the end of a long alley, with far too few places to hide should anyone be there – a series of flickering neon lights advertised various seedy establishments too controversial for the main streets, even here.

 Trying not to attract any undue attention, they walked down the alley side by side, Cooper keeping his hand close to his pistol. They walked past a pair of bouncers outside a strip club, both of them with small semi-automatics strapped to them, who ignored them as long as they were on the far side of the street.

 “How well am I known here?” Cooper whispered.

 “Too damn well. They’ve got some excellent shots of you. Apparently you are a criminal terrorist mastermind.”

 “Criminal and terrorist,” he replied. “I guess I’m going up in the world. Is anyone believing any of this bullshit?”

 “All they have to believe is that they will pay out on the bounty they’re offering for you if someone brings you in. Dead, by they way, they don’t seem to have any interest in keeping you alive.

 “I saw that they had the Captain.”

 “I think that’s real, though you can never be sure. There have been some carefully orchestrated protests, drummed up public opinion. My guess is a quick show trial and a firing squad, after they’ve got all the information they can out of him.”

 “It’s my fault,” Cooper said, as they walked to the end of the alley and onto the street. It was there that their luck ran out. A trio of men were walking down the middle of the road, all of them with rifles in their hands, and people were streaming from the pavements into the shops and houses.

 “Get out of here,” he said to Cantrell.

 “After what I went through? Not a chance,” she said, pulling out her pistol.

 Bullets cracked all around them as Cooper dived to the dirt, returning fire in an automatic, sweeping move. One of the men dropped immediately as the other two raced to the side, one of them only making two paces before a well-placed shot from Cantrell dropped him. They hadn’t even known enough to find decent cover, just a group of local toughs who fancied their luck. For two of them, it had deserted them; the third threw his rifle to the deck and ran away, giving them a good shot at his back that they both ignored.

 Cooper pushed himself to his feet, his clothes and hands covered in muddy oil, and took a step up to the nearest body. He was a kid, no more than eighteen, probably the younger brother of one of the others. Shaking his head, he reached down and closed his eyes with his hand.

 “Come on,” Cantrell said, tugging at his elbow. “We’ve got to get out of here. Security will have their helicopters overhead in minutes.” She looked down at the corpse, and said, “It was him or us. We didn’t have a choice.”

 Looking at her, he replied, “I know, I know. Let’s get going.”

 Overhead he could hear the whir of helicopters and then another crack over his shoulder, a bullet flying into the dirt by his side. The two of them raced down the street, weaving from side to side, trying to make it to the nearest hatch cover and into the safety of the tunnels. As he sprinted for safety, the ground behind him thudded with the impact of a series of near-misses, oily mud splattering all around.

 Then the firing stopped, but his brief relief was shattered when a searchlight shone down from above the street, a helicopter overhead. Despite his chemical boost, Cantrell was easily faster than him in his current condition, and was outpacing him down the street, skidding to a stop by a hatch cover which she frantically threw open.

 “Come on! Hurry up!” she yelled, lingering for a second in the street.

 Orders were bellowing from the hovering helicopter, augmented into incoherence by the loudspeaker, but the gist was presumably a demand for him to surrender or die. That the first would undoubtedly lead to the second spurred him onward, and he managed to reach the hatch in the nick of time, dropping onto the rusty ladder and sealing it shut behind him.

 Cantrell was already well on her way down to the ground, taking the rungs two at a time, but he was forced to take a slower, steadier pace, and all the way was expecting to hear shots from above, yelled voices ordering to stop. She lingered at the foot of the ladder, pistol raised high, waiting for him to reach her, and with a sigh of relief he planted his feet in the mud.

 Without waiting any longer, Cantrell sprinted away into the darkness, and Cooper did his best to follow her, not knowing or caring where they were going. Away, into the shadows, that was the main thing. It would take time for the troopers to follow them, and they could use that time to get into the safety of this maze.

 She was setting a demanding pace, turning abruptly down a side shaft, and as Cooper turned to follow her, he saw a beam of light from behind him; they were heading down the ladder after him. His pistol still in his hand, he turned and fired a couple of shots at random, the crack echoing around the tunnel, hopefully enough to convince any possible pursuers to reconsider their choice.

 Cantrell was almost out of sight now, and he pressed on, his eyes slowly adapting to the darkness as he trudged through the filth, the ooze seeping over the top of his boots. That was the least of his problems, and he spent at least half an hour on Cantrell’s trail, turning and twisting into ever more distant passages, until finally she came to a stop.

 “I think we’ve lost them,” she said.

 “And ourselves as well,” he agreed. “Do you know where we are?”

 “Roughly, anyway. There are plenty of ways up to the surface, and we’ll get our bearings quickly when we get back on top. We should wait for a while, though, let them stop looking for us.”

 “Won’t they have the tunnels staked out?”

 “That would require effective manpower, and the local security force don’t seem interested enough for that. They’re fine at the riot control stuff, but actual detection seems beyond them. Most of them are just contract rent-a-cops anyway, not professionals.”

 “Law enforcement on the cheap.”

 “Emphasis on the cheap. You holding up?”

 “Until the pills wear off.” He looked into the gloom, then back again, and said, “Got time to fill me in on what I missed yet?”

 “I don’t know where to begin,” she started. “First of all, though, Ouroboros got away. I found a contact at the starport who tracked it all the way out. So we completed our mission.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “That’s something, anyway. It was worth it. What about the Captain?”

 “That I’m not sure about. I’m almost certain they’re holding him at the Town Hall, they paraded him through the streets when they captured him, and by then I was able to be in the audience.”

 “He got on board the shuttle.”

 “If you are thinking they might have caught the shuttle, I very much doubt it. If only because they would have been very happy to parade any more prisoners they captured. This local group seems very eager to put on a good show for the cameras.” She smiled, then continued, “To answer your next question, I found a mine shaft out in the mountains and got you down it. It took most of the rest of my ammunition to stop them coming after us, and all the cash I had left to get you medical attention. It was touch and go for a while, but you got through the critical stage a week ago.”

 “What have you been up to?”

 “Trying to find a way for us to get off this rock. The local crime gangs don’t seem to have much skilled talent, so it wasn’t hard for me to get work.”

 “You’re working for the underworld?”

 “Just some intelligence work, nothing more. Which is my job, after all. I can get you a job lined up as an enforcer, no problem. My boss is rather eager to get you on the payroll, I may have exaggerated your abilities a little.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “No thanks.”

 “We’ve got to get the money to get home somehow, and I don’t think it’ll even take that long. There’s a ship, the Brunel, and it hauls various semi-legal cargoes around out as far as Sinbad. I think we can charter her out to Hydra Station, and it won’t be difficult to get the cash to do it. Three, four months, if the two of us weigh in, and we can be on our way home to what should by then by a Triplanetary outpost.”

 “Sounds like a good plan,” Cooper said, “but there won’t be two of us, but three.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “Tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you are thinking.”

 “We’ve got to get the Captain out.”

 “Cooper, he’s being held in a maximum-security facility, and the reason that they haven’t gone after us properly is that all their best people are being held for when we try to break him out. I had a quick look, and we can’t even get in. We are going to have to do something about him, though.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Looking him in the eyes, she said, “Captain Marshall knows far too much for us to safely leave him in the hands of the Cabal. He should never have come on this mission in the first place, but he’ll be expecting for us to try this.”

 “Try…”

 “To kill him,” she said with a sigh. “Word is that they are planning to put him on show again soon. We need to be in that crowd, and it won’t be that difficult to take a shot. Getting away will be a bit more of an effort, but we can..”

 “No.”

 “I knew you’d say this.”

 “Which is presumably why you thought you’d try and get this over with before I woke up, isn’t it. That’s why you went to the Town Hall, to see if you could get at him.”

 Throwing up her arms, she said, “Yes, I admit it! I didn’t want you to get involved in this. We can’t leave him in the hands of the Cabal.”

 “With that I agree.”

 “That doesn’t mean that any sort of escape attempt is going to work, though. The problems we’d have to solve are too many to count! Have you thought what this would involve? Not only breaking him out, but getting him to a ship and out of the system. I’m worried enough about getting you away, but I think we can probably swing it, but his face has been on the news every day for three weeks.”

 “All true.”

 “Then you agree…”

 “I don’t agree with a word of it. There are problems, and we have to get past them.”

 “Which is exactly the sort of flawed logic that left us stuck in this mess in the first place. A plan thrown together at the last minute with damn all preparation or intelligence. It’s a miracle it worked at all, never mind that three of us were left behind.”

 “What about the resistance?”

 “What about them? They’ve gone into hiding, haven’t lifted a finger to help me, and my guess is that they won’t. That mob are far too much in love with their own pathetic hides to do anything to actually help free themselves, I’ve seen the type before.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, and said, “Cooper, we’ve got to face reality. We’re stranded behind the lines, and we still have a job to do, a duty to perform.”

 “And that is to rescue the Captain. He’d do the same for us. That’s why we came out here in the first place.”

 “That was different. We had a chance then, an unprepared target. Now they are ready for us and expecting us.”

 “We don’t leave anyone behind. Not unless there is no chance of getting them out.”

 “I didn’t want to do this, but I’m giving you an order. As senior officer present, you will assist me with the operation to kill Captain Marshall, though I won’t make you pull the trigger. Just get me into a position when I can do the job.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper turned, and started to head down the corridor, “I can’t do it, and I won’t.” 

 “Cooper…”

 “What are you going to do, have me arrested? Turn me in?”

 “Don’t be stupid.” 

 “That’s what it would take to stop me. If you want to go your own way, fine. I wish you the best of luck in getting home, and it probably will be a damn sight easier for you to pull it off without me around.”

 She stood in the shadows, and he continued, “When you get back, I want you to tell Lieutenant Orlova and Sergeant Forrest that it was worth it, that I don’t blame either of them for what happened, and that I would do it all again even if I knew in advance that I wasn’t coming back.”

 “I believe you,” she said, as he walked deeper into the shadows. He paused for a moment, and turned.

 “And Barbara...explain it to her. She'll understand, but it might take a while.” He paused, then said, “Thank you, by the way. For saving my life.” She looked at him in silence as he walked on down the corridor, heading vaguely towards the main tunnels and a path that would take him back to the surface. After a moment, he heard fast footsteps running after him, and Cantrell moved up to his side.

 “You haven’t got a prayer of pulling this off without me. Let’s see if we can get this organized. The first thing we’re going to need is money. A lot of money. I think I know where we can get it.”

 “Thanks,” Cooper said.

 “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t, I have a reputation to uphold.”

 “I don’t believe a word of it.”

Chapter Four

 The Commandant offered Marshall a respirator, and helped him clasp it on as he and their two guards made their way up to the rooftop helipad. From the top, they had an excellent view of the interior of the dome, and he was surprised at how familiar it looked, just like any one of a dozen similar cities on Mars – the only difference being that this one was surrounded by the slums of those who weren’t fortunate enough to share in the luxurious environment.

 A loud noise rattled from overhead, and he looked up to see a vehicular airlock opening, a helicopter dropping through the shaft and heading down to a landing. He took a couple of steps back as it descended, the pilot coping easily with the light crosswind of the air recirculators; up here, they were getting the full effect of the ventilation, and he wondered why they needed the respirator.

 As the helicopter settled onto the deck, a hatch on its side popped open, and the Commandant gestured for Marshall to step in; the interior of the cabin had no windows, bright panels illuminating the four couches. He settled inside, strapping himself down, and was surprised when the Commandant waved the guards away, stepping inside by himself.

 “Aren’t you worried I might try something?” he asked.

 “Where would you go if you did, Captain? It is impossible to get from this cabin to the cockpit, and even if by some miracle you did, you will find that you have very few friends on this planet. Strange as it may sound, I’m the closest thing to an ally you are going to find.”

 “The windows?”

 “I thought you might like a little privacy. That and the protesters would probably be antagonized if we were to move you too openly. The local administration has made rather a lot of your capture. I suppose I can’t blame them, it was the only good piece of news on a somewhat depressing day for them.”

 With a jerk, the helicopter took off, a series of loud clangs heralding their passage out of the top of the dome, and out into the planet’s atmosphere. He felt forward motion, but it was a strange sensation not being able to see where he was going.

 “Can I ask where you are taking me?”

 “There isn’t anything particularly secret about it. We have a few outposts, mostly abandoned mining facilities, taken over for our own use. I have commandeered one of those for our stay. I assure you that the accommodations there are far more comfortable than anything you would have experienced with those fools in the capital.”

 “I take it that you don’t get along with them?”

 “You would have been a thousand times more secure taken to one of these bases immediately. It isn’t as if you can go anywhere, and simply throwing you in a cell did nothing other than satisfy some perverse need for revenge.” 

 Marshall could tell that the helicopter was moving quickly, but without any reference points, trying to work out where they were going was impossible. The Commandant was right; knowing where he was wouldn’t make that much difference in any case, with no possibility of getting off planet, the Cabal held all the cards in any case.

 “My compliments on a victory in the battle, by the way. An excellent piece of strategic planning, especially the reinforcement by Hercules at the last minute. Inspired.”

 Somehow, Marshall didn’t have the heart to tell him that the arrival of the second ship had been an unplanned accident; giving the Commandant the impression that their planning and preparation had been better than it had been in reality was not a bad thing, in any case.

 “You gave it a tough fight,” he replied. “It went rather better than I was expecting.”

 “Oh, it was quite clear to me that you were intending to go out in one final blaze of glory, doing as much damage as possible. If I had been in command, I suspect you would have had your wish.”

 “That wasn’t your fleet?”

 “I merely commanded two of the battlecruisers. Well, that was at the beginning of the battle. By the end of it, I had inherited full command. I suppose I should thank you for my somewhat unorthodox promotion, though I doubt the casualties would appreciate that.”

 “I’m sorry for your losses.”

 “Fortunes of war.” He paused, then said, “I should be apologizing to your for your treatment following your capture. I only arrived in orbit this morning, but as soon as I found out what had happened, I started work to have you transferred into my custody.”

 “You don’t approve?”

 “Of morons like those? Certainly not. A pair of savage thugs given a uniform and made to feel self-important by brutalizing others. That’s not what we are supposed to do.” Shaking his head, he said, “We are far less uniform than your Confederation, and have a lot less influence on how individual planets operate.”

 “Really?” Marshall said. “I rather had the impression that you were more of a monolithic state, everything controlled tightly from the top.”

 “Everything in space, yes, and we hold the final authority at all times, but policing the individual planets is a lot more difficult. We have other things to worry about, at least for the moment. Perhaps when everything finally settles down, we can work on our internal political structure.”

 “Such as abolishing slavery, perhaps?”

 He nodded, and said, “I had a feeling that would prove a sensitive issue.”

 “My men deserved to be treated as prisoners of war, not sold at auction to the highest bidder in order to be worked to death.”

 “Don’t force me to defend a policy I disagree with. Your colonies had the same practices…”

 “Which we went to war to end.”

 Raising a hand, he said, “Peace, Captain. Not only do I agree with what you said, I did everything in my power to mitigate a decision that was outside my control.” He reached into his pocket, and handed a datapad over to Marshall, who started to skim through it. Instructions to a factor, and a bill of sale.

 “You bought my men?”

 “I knew I could make better use of them than working them to death on a refinery ship. They would have been held in a secured facility, and ultimately I might have been able to arrange their release. At the very least, I would have seen to their good treatment.” He shook his head, and said, “No matter what my personal feelings, I cannot simply snap my fingers and change long-standing government policies.”

 “And you think that by buying them you earn my respect?”

 “I seek understanding, nothing more. There was only so much I could do at the time.” He smiled, then said, “You owe me a good deal of money, now, but I was planning on writing it off in any case. It made it easier to have you transferred to my custody, anyway; your crime was against me as much as it was against the state.”

 “So what happens now? What is to be my fate?”

 “To begin with, I will ask you some questions, a formality that my superiors will expect; I suspect that you will have no intention of answering them, but we must both read from our respective scripts for the benefit of the cameras. After that, you will be held in a comfortable facility for the present.”

 “Locked in a cage for the rest of my life.”

 With a frown, the Commandant said, “You and I both know that it will not come to that. At some point, we are likely to go to war, and upon its end, whoever wins, you will be released. I assure you of that.”

 “Trading me for your safety?” 

 “Damn it, Captain, I’m trying to help you here! There is also the possibility of a prisoner exchange. Our intelligence efforts are ramping up, and you would be a good trade for any of our people that are captured.”

 Leaning back on his chair, Marshall replied, “I’d probably do essentially the same in your place, I suppose. Though it would be someone in Intelligence that handles the messy details.”

 “I have rather more freedom of action in some respects than you. You might think of me as a troubleshooter, gathering around our little part of the universe to deal with problems before they can grow too much. Until your arrival, I had an excellent record.”

 “I’m sorry I’m damaging your reputation.”

 “If you feel that badly about it, then there is an offer I would extend to you.”

 “And that is?”

 Sitting forward and facing him, the Commandant said, “Switch sides. Work for me.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Even if you are exchanged, it is likely that the conditions will include a provision that you never command a ship of your own again. Your only chance to do what you were born for is in my fleet.”

 “Are you actually seriously suggesting that I turn traitor?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I would undertake that you would not be involved in any actions against the Triplanetary Confederation. We are currently working against the United Nations as well; surely you would have no objection to fighting their vessels?”

 “Under your flag, I certainly would.”

 With a deep sigh, he replied, “There is so little need for us to be enemies. Our two governments are more similar than you would like to believe, and we could work together for the common good.”

 “By joining the Cabal. We’ve talked about this before, on Jefferson.”

 “Most of your citizens wouldn’t notice the difference. This wouldn’t mean installing new taskmasters; our fleets would be merged, some of you obtaining senior positions, and your leaders would run your worlds, just as they do now.”

 “But without freedom, without democracy, and with the sort of imposed dictatorship that we spent more than a decade throwing off. Our people are still only a generation removed from United Nations rule. You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to agree to your terms.”

 With a smug grin, he replied, “Cornucopia Mining were more than happy to sign up.”

 “One of the last of the big mega-corps left over from the war. The people would rebel at the very thought of this.”

 “I fear that you overestimate the will of your population, though I suppose you know them far better than I. It matters little, in any case. Ultimately, your three worlds will become a part of our government, and the terms and conditions will be far worse than if you had opted to take the more sensible path. Understand that our concern – our single and only concern – is the survival of the human race. That is why we settled the stars, decades before anyone else, and that is our prime motivation today.”

 “Why, though? I can understand how you must have felt after the war, when you though Earth had been destroyed, but as soon as you found Discovery you must have realized things were different. You could have come home, or at least made your existence clear.”

 “And become a puppet of the United Nations?”

 Marshall paused, then said, “At the very least, now that mankind is spread so far across the galaxy, you can relax your stance. Why continue with your aggressive posture? Why seek out a war with the Confederation?”

 “Are you telling me in all honesty that you would simply allow us to exist? That you wouldn’t demand we free our worlds, wouldn’t inspire revolution among the Neander, or our indentured workers?”

 Shrugging, he said, “Probably, though given our respective strengths, I suspect a majority of the Senate would be happy with a hands-off policy…”

 “At least until your fleet was strong enough – in your own minds, if nothing else – that you could risk a head-on confrontation. I know more about your domestic politics than you think. Not to mention that there are strong elements in your Fleet pushing for a war now, today, even with the limited intelligence you have.”

 “There isn’t anything you can do about that, not now.”

 “Perhaps. But we are determined that the greatest chance of mankind’s survival is as a single, unified state, ready to face anything that comes. There are dangers out there of which you are unaware; remember that we have been traveling the stars far longer than your Confederation.”

 “Such as?”

 With a wide smile, he said, “I think that a discussion for another time. Even I am not so confident in my security as to provide a prisoner with classified information. You would follow the same restrictions were our roles reversed.”

 “Certainly.” The helicopter began to slow, turning to the left, sending them gently towards the wall. “I take it we are almost there.”

 “Nearly. We will require our respirators for the landing.”

 “I was wondering why you had given me one.”

 Looking around the inside of the helicopter, he said, “One breach in this wall, even for a minute, and we are both dead, our lungs seared. I would not take such a risk, not when it is merely uncomfortable to avoid it.”

 “Very wise.”

 The helicopter settled down for a landing, and a red light flashed on as the hatch opened; the two men checked their respirators and stumbled out into a storm. Waiting for them outside were a pair of suited guards, both with pistols in holsters but not drawn, who gestured for them to step into an airlock raised from the ground.

 Pausing, Marshall stopped to look around the bleak landscape, trying to find at least something he would be able to recognize, something he could use to fix his position should be try to escape. He was standing atop a tall tower, several stories high, with a perimeter fence and a couple of low buildings, one of them emitting smoke, with pipes running out into the oily sea about half a mile away, black froth foaming over a gray beach. In the distance were tall mountains, surrounding the facility on the horizon as far as he could see, and a few faint paths wound off into the distance.

 “An old impact crater,” the Commandant said, half shouting to make himself heard. “I think they hoped to find mineral deposits here, but ten years search found nothing in this area.” He gestured at the roads, and said, “They go nowhere, just to a few abandoned buildings and obsolete mining equipment. I could arrange a tour if you are really interested.”

 “No thanks,” Marshall replied.

 “Then we can get into shelter now?”

 “Certainly,” he said, leading the way. The airlock doubled as an elevator, and while it was descending, it pressurized, and the two of them took off their masks in relief as the green light flashed on. The guards retained theirs, and remained inside as the stepped off into a corridor. The doors closed, leaving the two of them alone.

 “Perimeter watch. There’s no need to maintain a large staff here. Just a few maintenance technicians and security guards. I venture that with some work you would be able to overwhelm the whole force.”

 “What would that accomplish?”

 “Nothing except an orbital strike that would create another crater. Perhaps this time the mining companies would have more luck, though I venture not. Would you like to see your quarters now?”

 “I haven’t got any other plans. Are you staying here as well?”

 “From time to time,” he said. “I have got a fleet in orbit to take care of, as well as a wayward battlecruiser to find. Unless you are willing to provide me with any assistance in that area?”

 Marshall chuckled, and replied, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’d have to offer me something a lot more substantial than the prospect of your company for me to give you that information.”

 Gesturing at a door, the Commandant walked down the corridor to the end, and into a room that more resembled a luxury suite at a hotel than prison; a comfortable bed, monitor display over one wall and a desk, a selection of Triplanetary uniforms, up to and including full dress uniform, by the looks of it all tailored for him, even a mini-bar.

 “This is...unexpected,” he replied.

 “As far as I am concerned, you are an honored guest, not a prisoner. As I said before, there is no point in us mistreating you. The questions are displayed on the terminal; I would be grateful if you would refuse to answer them as quickly as you can, so that I can proceed with my report. I’m sure you are as aware of the tyranny of paperwork as I am.”

 “I’ll get right on it,” he replied.

 “Dinner will be served at the far end of the corridor in about an hour. If you need anything, the button on the wall will summon a guard; if you want, you can roam the complex as you wish. The respirator recharges in the bathroom.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “No guards in the corridor, and you’ll let me walk out of here?”

 “This information I will give you, Captain. You are three hundred miles from the city, the only inhabited area on the planet aside from a few military bases such as this. Where would you go?”

 “Good point.”

 “I’ll let you settle in,” he said. “See you later.”

 Marshall sat down at the desk, still shaking his head in disbelief. It was obvious that this was just another attempt to try and convince him to switch sides, though he’d not heard of such a tactic being taken to these extremes before. He called up the list of questions, all of them the expected requests for information on ship locations and assignments, personnel questions. He filled in his name, rank and serial number, then simply typed in ‘refuse to answer’ for the rest, finishing it in less than five minutes.

 Then it hit him; he’d already co-operated with the Commandant. Maybe the plan was working after all, and as he looked out at the bleak landscape around him, he was intensely aware that he might be trapped in a gilded cage, but it remained a cage, and his duty still remained clear. To attempt to escape at the first opportunity.

Chapter Five

 Orlova stepped onto the bridge, just as Kibaki’s Gamma Watch was handing over to Alpha Watch; all eyes were on her as she walked out of the elevator, looking around at the stations and displays. It all seemed so strange to her, alien, after months on Hercules and Ouroboros. She’d spent years on this ship, but all of them seemed to have been washed away by everything that had happened.

 Kibaki, handing a datapad to his replacement, Sub-Lieutenant Reid, walked over to her, a smile on his face, and clapped her on the shoulder.

 “Welcome home, Maggie. It’s good to get you back. I thought you’d want to know that Ouroboros will be docking at Hydra Station in a few minutes. Everything seems to be going fine over there.”

 “Thanks,” she said in a near-monotone. “I need to see the Captain.” She paused, then said, “Major.”

 Turning to the office door, he said, “I’m having trouble getting used to it as well. You’re going to have to wait for a minute, I’m afraid. Caine stormed in here a few minutes ago and barged in to see him without saying a word. She must be taking the Captain’s loss hard.”

 “We all are.”

  “True, but she has a lot more history with him than any of us. That has to be taken into account. She’s hurting, Maggie. We all are.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Cooper and Cantrell, as well.”

 “They are...were heroes.”

 “No one will question that.”

 Looking at the viewscreen, she said, “What’s been happening here, anyway?”

 “It’s actually been reassuringly boring. Quinn tore the guts of the ship apart, replaced all the armor plating on the hull, and that job is about finished; we’ve got the orbital defense network going, though calibrating it is proving to be a bit of a problem.”

 “So we’re ready to go?” 

 “Almost. There must be a couple of thousand items on the maintenance list, and Quinn’s determined to run through them all this time.” He frowned, then said, “There was no sign of pursuit, was there?”

 “None.”

 “Then we’ve got time to breathe, before venturing off into unknown space. I don’t think that would be a bad thing, do you?”

 Nodding, she replied, “I think the crew need it. We could all do with it.”

 “So strange,” Kibaki said, glancing at the office again. “Sitting at my station with my back to the Major, sometimes I forget that it is the father, not the son, behind me. Their voices are so similar, did you notice that?”

 “I did,” she replied. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

 With a smile, Kibaki said, “He isn’t, you know. Not really. He gave of himself to each of us, to make us better than we were before, and as long as we do not render his sacrifice worthless, or neglect what he gave us, he still walks among us.”

 “That’s a very comforting way of looking at it.”

 “I served in the Interplanetary War. Many of my friends are gone, but some of them still remains.” He tapped his head and his heart, “Here, and here. Where it really counts.”

 The door burst open, and Caine stormed out of the office, glaring at Orlova as she made her way to the elevator. The Major, still white-faced, looked after her for a moment, then turned to Orlova, gesturing with his hand.

 “Come in, please,” he said, and she walked in after him, the door sliding shut. He motioned for her to take a chair, and after a brief pause, she sat down opposite him. A trio of datapads were laid out on the desk, the nearest one holding Caine’s report.

 “Tell me what happened, Maggie,” the Major said in a quiet voice. “In your own words.”

 “We broke into the facility where the Espatiers were being held, and managed to get them out without too much trouble. Everything went according to plan until we got out of the domed city. There was a lot more air support than we’d been expecting, and they mobilized far faster than we’d thought. We were about a mile from the spaceport when they hit our transport, and we had to proceed on foot.”

 “Where the ambush happened.”

 “Three to one odds, and most of us were unarmed. Cooper and Cantrell managed to draw them away long enough for the rest to get onto the shuttle.” She paused, then said, “I saw Cooper being shot in the back, just as we were taking off. We only had a short window to get past their orbital defenses, and we were already running behind.”

 “Cantrell?”

 “We didn’t see what happened to her. She was with Cooper, and I’ve officially listed her as missing. She was either captured or killed, I can’t see any other possibility.”

 “Then?”

 “The Captain was piloting the shuttle, and we weren’t going to be able to get to the freighter in time.” Orlova was looking out to the space, living through the nightmare all over again. “He decoyed me back into the engine room, sealed the hatch, and took us close enough to the nearest satellite that he could cross over to it on his suit thrusters.”

 “According to Lieutenant Caine, there was a window of opportunity for you to rescue him.”

 Gulping, tears forming in her eyes, she said, “We didn’t have time to get him back and still escape the system. I...I couldn’t see any alternative. So we left. Before leaving the system, the satellite disappeared from our sensors. I guess it must have burned up earlier than we’d thought, or maybe the Cabal had destroyed it.”

 “I see.”

 Pulling a datapad out of her pocket, she slid it over to the Major, saying, “Here is a letter resigning my commission, sir. And a request that I be transferred to reserve status immediately.”

 The Major picked it up, skimmed over it, and replaced it on the desk. He looked at her closely, staring into her eyes for a moment, as if trying to see what she had seen. Then he picked up one of his datapads.

 “Lieutenant Caine recommends immediate court-martial, on the grounds of cowardice in the face of the enemy and dereliction of duty.”

 “I will not oppose such an action, sir.”

 “Bullshit. You are very fortunate to have made a friend of Frank Nelyubov, Lieutenant. He made sure that your report – and his – reached my desk before Caine’s. You left out the part where you had been shot in the arm.”

 “It wasn’t important.”

 “More importantly, you left out that my son...that Captain Marshall had previously ruled out any rescue attempts should the mission fail, and that he ordered you to go.”

 “I was commanding Ouroboros. I could have overridden that.”

 “In which case you’d be having this discussion with a Cabal interrogator. As well as everyone else on your ship. I’m not accepting your resignation, Maggie. Nor do I intend to initiate court-martial proceedings against you.” He shook his head, and said, “Tell me something. Did he die well? Was it worth something?”

 “All of them did. And their sacrifice got us away.”

 “Then he died doing exactly what he would have wanted to do, saving his shipmates and serving the Confederation. This has ripped a hole in my soul, Maggie, but I don’t intend to patch it over with revenge. You did what my son wanted you to do, and what I would have done myself in the same circumstances.”

 “He…”  

 “I know, Maggie, I know. I’m certifying your report as the official record, and adding Frank’s to the docket as backup evidence in the event of a board of inquiry, though my recommendations will be that you be awarded a commendation.”

 “At best, sir, I only did my duty.”

 “Let me say something. You’ve been tearing yourself up all the way home about this, haven’t you? That you should have thought of something, that you weren’t good enough, stuff like that. Am I right?”

 She nodded, and he continued, “Wrong conclusion. A less experienced officer would have gone in anyway, and probably got everyone killed or captured. That officer would have thought that she could have improvised a way out, even though there wasn’t one, and rendered the sacrifice my son and the others gave a waste of time. You did the right thing, and I’m not going to dishonor his memory by persecuting you for it.”

 The tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, and his were beginning to water as he said, “Maggie, I forgive you. If there is anything to forgive.”

 Her head in her hands, she collapsed on the desk, and the Major sat there silently for a moment, pulling a tissue out of a box and offering it to her.

 Shaking his head, he said, “Get it out of your system. Command is the hardest thing in the universe, and let me tell you a little secret. When there is no-one around, sometimes in my office or my quarters, I’ve gone through exactly what you did, raged against the universe that I couldn’t win it all.”

 “Did it help?”

 “It didn’t change the situation, but I always felt better afterwards.” With a deep breath, he said, “What I am trying to tell you is that you retain my full confidence, and I want you to resume your duties as Operations Officer.” He paused, then said, “In a few days, of course. I’m giving everyone on Ouroboros five days’ leave. You’ve all earned it.” Smiling, he continued, “I'd give you longer, but we'll be leaving this god-forsaken place soon.”

 “Thanks,” she replied as she dabbed away the tears. “I’m sorry about this.”

 “Just don’t ever do it on the bridge. That’s the first rule. A commanding officer can be as emotional as he wants – in private. As long as the crew thinks that he is made of iron, the rest doesn’t matter.”

 “I’ll remember that.”

 Pushing the datapads aside, he said, “Have you been briefed on the current situation here?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki filled me in on the basics. I’ll go over the logs tonight.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “There’s no mad rush. The key is that we’ll be breaking orbit for the Shrouded Stars in twenty-two days. That gives us plenty of time to complete our repairs and make sure that the orbital defense network is working properly. I’ve had teams over on Hydra Station doing some repairs over there, and enhancing its systems to something nearer Triplanetary specifications. My guess is that it could outfight a battlecruiser, but I’d rather not put that to the test.”

 “Help could already be on the way. Lieutenant Lane should have got the Dumont home by now.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Nevertheless, we can’t necessarily count on that. I’m certainly not going to wait here for a theoretical task force to arrive.”

 “Of course not, sir.”

 “What about Ouroboros? What condition is she in?”

 Pausing for a second, she said, “I’d be happier if Quinn and his team could give it a once-over, but I think she’s ready for space once her tanks are topped up.”

 “Good. Having a second ship along for the ride might be useful; I intend to put a prize crew on board and take her back with us. Don’t worry, I won’t give you the command, I’d rather have you here. I thought I might give it to Bailey.”

 “What about Nelyubov? He’d certainly be up to it.”

 “I entirely agree, but I’m going to need him here.” With a sigh, he said, “Caine’s requested a rather longer leave from duty, and given her current disposition, that’s not a bad idea. I’m going to name him Acting Lieutenant and assign him to Tactical, at least for the moment. You’ll need to work out a replacement for Guidance Control on Beta Shift, but that can wait for a while.”

 “I’ll work on that, sir.”

 “You want some advice?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Take a total break from it all. Stay in your cabin and play loud music. Go over to the station and get drunk. Bury yourself in a good book or two.” With a smile, he said, “What I’m trying to tell you is that I think you need a rest. Don’t force me to make it an order.”

 “I’ll try, sir,” she said.

 “See that you do,” he said in a mock-serious tone.

 “Good. Dismissed, then.”

 She stood up, then paused, saying, “I’d like to speak at the ceremony, sir. If that would be alright.”

 “What ceremony?”

 “The memorial ceremony for Cooper, Cantrell and the Captain.”

 A frown spread across his face, and he said, “That won’t be necessary.”

 “I think I should, Major.”

 “No, you misunderstand, Lieutenant. It won’t be necessary because I have no plans to hold such a ceremony. Reports notwithstanding, I don’t believe my son is dead.” He looked up at her, his face fixed, and continued, “I would know. Dismissed, Lieutenant.” 

 Trying to hide her concern, Orlova turned and walked out of the room, back onto the bridge. Kibaki was still loitering around by the elevator, trying to hide that he had been looking at the office door.

 “He turned down my resignation,” she said. “Looks like you are stuck with me for a while yet.”

 “I’m glad to hear it. Are you getting your old job back?”

 “Yes,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m your boss again, at least after five days mandatory leave.”

 “That is an excellent idea. You need time to absorb what you have been through.” He paused, then said, “If you need to talk, I don’t think you are wanting for friends on this ship. Myself included.”

 “Thanks,” she replied, glancing back at the door. “I’m worried about the Major, though.”

 “He is strong. It might take him a little time, but he will heal.” He clapped her on the shoulder, then walked into the elevator and left the bridge. Orlova lingered for a little while, looking at the sensor display; Ouroboros was finishing its docking with the station, and she didn’t really feel as if she had finished our mission until it was complete.

 “Docking successful, ma’am,” Bryant said from her station. “No problems, a nice smooth ride.”

 “I wish the whole mission had gone as well.”

 With at least one weight off her shoulders, she followed Kibaki from the bridge, pushing for the quarters deck. It took her a moment to remember the way, finally treading down the increasingly familiar corridor to her door. She paused for a second at the threshold before stepping in.

 Everything was exactly as she had left it. Her collection of antique spacecraft memorabilia was still spilling off the shelves, the monitor was frozen in a scene from a movie she’d been watching before she’d left, and her clothes were still scattered around the room in the mess she had left them when she had hurriedly packed for the mission. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized she was still wearing civilian clothes. Her uniform was lying crumpled on the deck, and she picked it up, running the material through her hands.

 Just as she finished changing, there was a chime on the door, and immediately nervousness returned. As she opened the door, she half-expected to see a furious Caine standing there, ready to berate her, but it was Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter on the other side, a smile on her face and a flask in her hands.

 “I just heard you were back,” she said. “I thought you could use some coffee. Probably better than the rubbish you’ve been drinking, we found out that the Neander grow something along those lines.”

 “It’s good to see you, Susan,” Orlova replied. “That does sound tempting.”

 Carpenter walked over to her desk and poured out two cups, passing one of them over to her before sitting down on the bed.

 “I gather you’ve got a few days off,” she said.

 “Kibaki’s been talking.”

 “You should know how fast the grapevine works around here.”

 “Nothing changes, I guess.”

 Taking a sip of her drink, Carpenter continued, “Well, I’ve got a proposition for you. You don’t want to be sitting around up here moping, and you can take my word for it that the pleasures of Hydra Station are barely good enough for a night or two, never mind a week’s leave.”

 “What have you got in mind?”

 “Come down to the surface and give me a hand. We’ve found a site on the southern continent that looks as if it dates back to the original settlement of the planet, and the Major’s been letting me do some work down there. I think we’re getting close to a major breakthrough, some new chambers waiting to be unearthed.”

 “And the Neander? Don’t they mind?”

 She shrugged, and said, “I talked to their Chief of Scouts…”

 “Kormax?”

 “He seemed to think it was fine, and the Major gave me permission. It could be really interesting, Maggie. We might get some real clues about the original settlement of Driftwind, and learn a hell of a lot about our ancestors.”

 “I don’t know, Susan.”

 “Come on, it’ll be a lot of fun. Lots of good fresh air during the day, and getting drunk around a campfire at night. There are about a dozen of us down there, Mulenga’s with us handling the admin side.”

 With a thin smile, Orlova said, “Fine, you’ve convinced me. I would go crazy if I was just sitting up here, and I wouldn’t mind spending some more time down there anyway. It looks peaceful.”

 “It is. Late at night, out in the desert...the place has an atmosphere. It’s so strange, familiar yet alien. You’ve got to see it.”

 “Relax, I agreed already!” she said, taking a drink. “This is good stuff.”

 “Plenty of it down at the campsite. This place is going to have some real export industries once they get going.” Taking a deep swig, she said, “Now finish your drink, and we’ll get some proper kit fabricated for you. We’re losing daylight.”

 “I’ve only been back on board for half an hour…”

 “Which is far too long to wait for you to start your vacation. Come on.”

Chapter Six

 Cooper felt conspicuous as he walked underneath the flashing neon sign into the bar, despite Cantrell’s assurances that this was one place where no-one would attempt to collect a bounty on it. Inside, the room was a mess, daubed graffiti on the walls, posters advertising products that likely hadn’t been sold for decades, the metal tables bolted to the floor, though signs that someone had managed to get through that restriction in the past showed in the dents on the wall.

 The occupants nicely matched the decor. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone to make the first move, and half-concealed weapons bulged out of pockets. A collection of somewhat desperate women lingered around the bar, obviously hoping to deprive some of the clientèle of their ill-gotten gains; two of them were gathered around a security trooper who was attempting to sing a bawdy song with little success.

 “Stay here and have a drink,” Cantrell said. “They know me here, so no-one will bother you unless you start something. Try and keep a low profile.”

 “The guard?”

 “On the payroll. Or he’d be six feet under by now. Be back in a minute.”

 Walking over to the bar, Cooper ordered a beer, the safest drink he could see, and placed a note on the table to cover it – unsurprisingly, no change was offered. He took an experimental sip, nodded, then took a deeper one, and resolved to spend as much time nursing it as possible. He certainly didn’t want to drink any more of it, concerned enough about the effects on his stomach of the little he had taken.

 He was being watched by at least three people in the room that he could see, which meant that probably as many more weren’t being so obvious about it. All of them would know about the bounty, and while he might be safe enough in here, he’d be fair game once he got outside. The pistol stuffed in his pocket was comforting, though creating a scene wasn’t high on his priorities.

 The security trooper squinted at him, barked a laugh, then said, “Don’t I know you?”

 “I don’t think so.”

 “Sure I do! You were with that bunch that hit the slave auction, I saw you on the news.”

 “That wasn’t me,” Cooper replied, moving over to him, his hand getting closer to his pistol. The rest of the room was doing their best to ignore the conversation, no doubt more concerned with their own business.

 “Hell, no hard feelings. Not in here, anyway,” he said. “Want a drink? Or a girl? On me?”

 He proffered a brunette sitting by his side, who flashed him a look of disgust, and Cooper shook his head, “No, thank you. I’m with someone.”

 “I saw your boss this morning,” he said. “Some top brass guy turned up and took him, right out of the interrogation room. Damn bastard. We caught him, and why should someone else get to take all the credit. Proctor’ll take any excuse not to give us our bonus.”

 “Where did they take him?”

 “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 In one quick move, Cooper snatched the man’s collar, threw him down to the floor and knelt down on top of him, his drink sloshing across the counter and his companions moving away.

 “Yes, I would. And you are going to tell me.” The man looked around at some of the other patrons, but the only ones who were watching seemed more interested in taking notes on Cooper’s technique than anything else. “No-one here will lift a finger to help you.”

 “Site Nine, dammit. Out beyond the Wayback Mountains. I don’t know anything else.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yes, yes, I’m sure. Get off me.”

 With a curt nod, Cooper rose to his feet, and the guard rose, flashing daggers at him, “Big mistake. Now…”

 Glancing back to him with a sigh, Cooper replied, “Don’t say something stupid. I wouldn’t break sweat.” He placed another note on the table and said, “That’s for the drink I spilled.”

 Cantrell walked over to his side, looking down at the disheveled guard, and said, “We’re all set downstairs. They enjoyed the display on the monitor.”

 “Just making friends,” Cooper said with a smile.

 The two of them walked past the counter and through a door into a small back room; she pulled up a hatch exposing a shaft that seemed to go nowhere, and stepped down into it.

 “Part of the old tunnel complex they carved out. Coming?”

 “Sure.”

 They descended into darkness for almost a hundred meters before reaching the bottom, feeling their way down the ladder; the overhead hatch slammed shut while he was half-way down. Once they were both on firm ground, white-bright lights flashed on, blinding him in the glare, and a door opened up. Squinting, he saw a pair of figures standing in the door, pistols pointed at them.

 “Your weapon, please, Mr. Cooper.”

 Cantrell nodded, and he pulled his pistol from his concealed holster, sliding the clip out and into his pocket, before passing the gun across, butt first.

 “Ammunition isn’t cheap.”

 “I quite understand,” one of them said in a sharp voice. “Jerry, search him.”

 Rough hands patted him down, expertly checking for any hidden weaponry. They came up with the stimulants in his pockets, and after a quick examination, put them back; his wallet also passed muster, and was returned with the contents intact.

 “You’ll get your gun back when you leave, not before,” the searcher said. “Pretty standard piece anyway.”

 “Understood.”

 “Not that we don’t trust you, but we can’t be too careful, especially with newcomers.” He flashed a look at Cantrell, and said, “No matter who vouches for them. Come through.”

 They walked down a short corridor into a more luxurious version of the room above, and it was obvious that the patrons down here had been selected with rather more care than those in the public bar. A couple more guardsmen were sitting in the corner, with insignia of rank on their shoulder, but the focus of the place was with the tall, suited man on the far side of the room, lounging comfortably on a soft chair with a beautiful blonde on his lap, fur wrapped around her neck. His eyes coldly examined Cooper, and for a second he had the feeling that he knew exactly what Cooper was planning to do.

 Cantrell walked him over, and said, “Cooper, this is Mr. Smith.”

 “You must be Lance-Corporal Cooper,” Smith said. “Miss Cantrell has told me much about your talents, and I must confess you put on a reasonable show upstairs. Tell me, what did he do to offend you?”

 “I don’t take people bragging about brutalizing my friends very kindly.”

 “I see,” he replied, turning to one of his hangers-on. “Clive, tell Mr. Potter that he is off the payroll, and that he should consider methods of repaying his bar bill immediately. If the Corporal is to work for us, I think it important that we provide him a show of good faith.”

 “Consider it done, boss,” the man replied, who bustled over to a corner.

 “Now, Mr. Cooper, I understand that this is only to be a short-term relationship, is that correct? Long enough for you to save up sufficiently to leave this planet and return to your Confederation.”

 Glancing at Cantrell, he nodded, and said, “I hope that isn’t going to present a problem. My duty is to return home as soon as possible.”

 “Not at all. I don’t question the life goals of my employees. Naturally, I will expect you to keep quiet about what you see here, though I don’t think I need to fear an imminent Triplanetary takeover too much. I will, likewise, ensure that no record of your activities exists.”

 Cooper didn’t believe him for a second; there would be some carefully placed files preserved in case he returned as part of an occupation force. He didn’t like being beholden to this man, not even for a moment.

 “As long as the pay is good,” he replied. “And as long as you are going to play fair.”

 Smith chuckled, and said, “It is refreshing to meet someone who isn’t automatically afraid of me. My employees will testify that I am not tardy with my wages, and the only thing I demand is your loyalty and discretion. Miss Cantrell has indicated that you will be willing to follow those dictates.”

 “I don’t have much choice, I think.”

 “Excellent. Then I will pass the word that you are working for me. While you are under my protection, you don’t have to worry too much about the bounty. I don’t think any of the independents would dare try for it.”

 Frowning, Cooper asked, “And you won’t try and claim it yourself?”

 “Young man, that would be a poor, short-term decision. You are far more valuable to me alive than you are dead, and after a certain time, control becomes far more important than wealth. Money is not something that concerns me, only as a means to an end.”

 “The end being the maintenance of your power.”

 “You see?” Smith said. “I’m glad you understand. Shall we shake on it?”

 He held out his hand, and Cooper walked up to take it. Now was the critical moment, and he quickly looked for the tell-tale alteration to Smith’s suit. Cantrell had said that it was underneath his breast pocket, and he didn’t want to think about how she had found that out. He spotted it, and as he made to shake Smith’s hand, he lunged forward, snapped his hand into the concealed pocket, and pulled out the pistol concealed within. Top of the range from the Lunar Republic, and loaded, naturally. Smith tried to lunge for it, but Cooper was too quick, the pistol pressed against his neck. The blonde jumped off, running out of the way.

 The response from the rest of the room was immediate, a dozen guns pointed at him within a second. Cantrell stood still, hanging back, herself covered by a pair of rifles. Cooper kept his focus on the man in front of him, who remained absolutely still through the proceedings.

 Smith smiled, and said, “Excellent, Mr. Cooper. Excellent. Any doubts I had about your skills are dismissed.”

 “I’m afraid this wasn’t a demonstration.”

 “Then I fear you have made a very silly move, and it will cost you your life.”

 “Yours as well. If your men shoot me, you will die at the same moment. Assuming one of them doesn’t decide that it is time for a promotion.”

 A bead of sweat ran down Smith’s face, and he replied, “You won’t get away with this.”

 “I rather think I will. Cantrell, take the rifles. I don’t think anyone will move.”

 She walked over to the nearest man and reached for his rifle, with a glance at his boss, he handed it to her, and she strapped it to her back; the other gave it to her without a fuss. Smith looked around with fury, then took a deep breath.

 “Put down the gun, walk out of here, and I will forget this happened.”

 “I haven’t finished yet,” Cooper replied, turning to the girl. “How much money is kept here?”

 She looked around, then said, “I don’t know…”

 “You wouldn’t be hanging around with this creep if you weren’t being well paid. How much and where?”

 “A hundred thousand credits, Cabal currency. In a safe at the back.”

 “And you have the combination.”

 “Of course I…”

 “Damn it,” Cantrell said, “you can’t kid a kidder. Go and get the money.”

 The blonde flounced off through a concealed door, her shoulders dejected. Cooper couldn’t blame her; she’d probably spent a long time and worked hard for the contents of the safe, and he felt a brief tinge of remorse at snatching it from her. A few moments later, she came out with a briefcase.

 “Open it,” he said. She complied, and Cantrell moved forward to check it.

 “Looks good. You want me to count it?” she said.

 “No need. We can always come back if we want a refund.”

 Smith smiled, and said, “You don’t think we’re just going to let you walk out of here, do you?”

 “Oh, I think that you might. Stand up.”

 Rising to his feet, Smith lunged forward, but Cooper was too quick, ducking back out of the way, a twinge of pain in his back indicating that his painkillers were beginning to wear off. Five more minutes and they would be out of there.

 Gesturing with his free hand to the woman, he said, “You’re going to carry the money for us. Cantrell, keep an eye on her.”

 “Got it.”

 “Now what?”

 “Now we’re going to leave, quietly, but all of your men are going to get out first.”

 He laughed, and said, “Why would they do that?”

 “Because I doubt any of them want to be arrested.”

 “Mr. Cooper, here I fear your plan is going to fall apart at the last hurdle, and it was going so well. What a shame. I have enough friends on this world – including the Proctor – that there is absolutely no chance of the security troops coming here.”

 His guards started to move a little closer, but Cooper replied, “No, I presumed not. But thirty seconds ago, I contacted the Cabal battlecruiser in orbit, informing them that a pair of Triplanetary fugitives were being provided with assistance by their resistance contacts in this bar.”

 “You did what!” he shouted.

 “I think that just might spur a reaction.” One of the men was already quietly leaving, making his way to the surface. “There isn’t a rush. You can all leave first; I think we have at least five minutes before anyone arrives.” He tossed a datapad to one of the nearby guards, who frantically scrolled through it.

 “He did, boss! Message sent fifty-two seconds ago, and it’s got the right coding.”

 Three more of the gunmen were making their way to the corridor, and the woman with the briefcase was looking longingly at the exit, Cantrell pointing a rifle vaguely in her direction as a suggestion that she should remain.

 “Get out of here, now,” she yelled. “You’ve got a couple of minutes.”

 They hastened to obey her suggestion, piling out of the room as Smith impotently watched, only a trio of his guards remaining, loyalty overwhelming their cowardice. Cantrell glanced at the shaft, and turned back.

 “We’re clear.”

 “Right. You are going first, Smith, then the girl, then Cantrell. I’ll be last. I assure you that my finger will be very quick on the trigger, and that I will not for a single moment hesitate to shoot anything or anyone.”

 “You haven’t heard the last of this,” Smith said.

 Smiling, Cooper replied, “Then perhaps I’d better shoot you now and get it over with.”

 “Boss, let it go,” one of the bodyguards said. “There will be another time.”

 “A very sensible man. Come on.”

 Hesitantly, Smith walked over to the ladder and started the climb, the girl following. Cantrell took a last look at Cooper, and nodded, following them upstairs. Cooper moved with his back to the shaft, covering the three of them.

 “In case you have any heroic ideas, I would recommend you consider that whatever happens, you will have a lot of explaining to do, and your boss would still be dead.”

 As quickly as he could, he leapt onto the ladder, climbing slowly with one hand as he pointed his pistol at the bottom. No-one disturbed him, and he reached the now-abandoned bar on the surface, Cantrell covering Smith and the girl with one of her rifles. 

 “Excellent. This is where you get off, Smith. Go back downstairs.”

 “But…,” he said.

 “Move,” Cooper replied, gesturing with his pistol. Smith shook his head and stepped back onto the shaft, and the three of them hastened out into the deserted street, where their car was waiting for them; Cantrell raced forward, popped open the engine case, and inserted a component from her pocket, watching the servicing lights go from red to green.

 “Ready. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 “What about me?”

 “Hate to lose a good hostage. You’re welcome to come with us.”

 She looked at the two of them, shook her head, and scrambled into the passenger compartment. Cantrell sent the car speeding along the road, heading nowhere in particular, as helicopters whirred overhead.

 “He’ll get away, you know. There are secret entrances underground,” the girl said.

 “I was counting on that,” Cooper said, turning from the front seat. “By the time he gets to the surface we’ll be out of here. What about the transport?”

 “I was quoted eighty thousand from Sinbad to Hydra, and a guaranteed cargo at the other end.”

 “You’re getting off-world?” the girl said.

 “That’s the idea,” Cooper replied. “I don’t intend to be here for Smith’s revenge. Think he’ll come after you?”

 “Probably.”

 With a sigh, Cantrell said, “This is another one of those noble gestures of yours, isn’t it.”

 “You know me so damn well.” Turning to the girl, he said, “Come with us. To Sinbad, at least. From there you can go wherever you want.”

 “Right to the nearest whorehouse, most likely,” she said with a scowl.

 “With whatever we’ve got left after we’ve paid off the freighter captain as a stake.”

 “That could be twenty thousand…”

 Cantrell shook her head, saying, “We could use that money, Cooper.”

 “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than your investment portfolio. Get us to the starport. We need to borrow a shuttle.” 

 “Where are we going?”

 “Somewhere called Site Nine.”

 “The military outpost?” the girl asked. “Why can’t we just get out of here?”

 “I’ve been wondering that myself,” Cantrell muttered.

 Cooper smiled, turning to the road ahead, and said, “There’s someone we need to pick up first.”

 The girl looked at the two of them, wide-eyed, and said, “Money’s no good if I’m not alive to spend it. I’ll get out here.”

 Cantrell skidded the car to a stop, and she ambled out into the night. Cooper shook his head.

 “Turning down that sort of money? Crazy.”

 “She’s got a point, Cooper,” Cantrell replied. “I almost got out with her.”

Chapter Seven

 The sky was full of stars, an array of twinkling lights the like of which Orlova had never seen, and she gazed up at them, basking in the star-shine. Her feet crunched in the sand as she walked in a vague circle away from the camp, taking deep breaths of the cool, fresh air, basking in the glorious view. She’d visited only a dozen of those lights in the sky, and there were thousands, tens of thousands up there yet to see.

 Around her, the bleak desert was broken up only by a few trees fighting for survival, small crawling flowers waiting for the one day in a century when the rains would come, and they would have their chance to bloom; this was a dying world, too small to maintain its biosphere for long, but there was a beauty in its death, a stark wilderness around her, as far as she could see.

 On all sides were the ruins that had brought them here in the first place, tall stones scattered around, the remains of some long-forgotten settlement, abandoned as the crops failed and the Neander were forced to become hunter/gatherers. A series of mounds in the corner held the bones of thousands of their people, and Carpenter’s first decision had been to leave them in their rest. She was still wandering around to the north with her detector, probing around in the gloom.

 Behind Orlova was the only sign of current occupation, a thin column of smoke from their fire slowly meandering into the sky, the faint crackle the only noise she could hear other than her out heartbeat. Perhaps a thin, occasional gust of wind to make some of the dust briefly dance.

 “It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Mulenga, Alamo’s astrogator, said.

 Orlova looked back sharply, then shook her head, “I didn’t see you there.”

 “Sorry if I surprised you.”

 “That’s fine, I was a few million miles away, I think. It is an astonishing sight. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 Looking up into the night, he replied, “I never grow tired of looking at the stars. I didn’t see them until I was old enough to go into space; the clouds of Titan are far too thick for that. I longed for them, poured over books and images to get an idea what to expect, but when I first saw them for real, all my preparation paled into insignificance compared to the real thing.”

 “I grew up in space,” she replied. “Before the war we were always flying around from one place to another, never staying anywhere for more than a few months. I don’t get tired of them either, but seeing them from a planet is different, somehow.”

 “This is the view our distant ancestors had, Maggie. When they walked tall on Earth, thousands of years ago, they looked up at this and could see the wonders of the universe opening up for them, a field of dreams in the sky. At times I can envy them.”

 “We get to fly among them, though. Isn’t that better?”

 “Ah, the imagination can provide a far richer universe than reality could ever provide. One of the reasons it took almost a century to go from the first satellites to the settlement of Mars, was disappointment. There were no Martians, no strange aliens to meet, no exotic landscapes on which to walk.” He laughed, then said, “Now Mars is turning into comfortable suburbia, and we are forced to indulge our desires for exploration on a far larger canvas than those colonists could ever have imagined.”

 “You sound disappointed.”

 “Imagine what a time it would have been to live in. Daring through space in those old ships, never sure you would make it, always knowing that you would be seeing something new. I wanted to have been on one of those first UN ships, the first starships, reaching out to the void and not knowing what they would find.”

 “Only two out of five made it home.”

 “That is the price you pay, the risk you run.”

 Looking up, Orlova said, “It’s all still out there. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to do some real exploring of our own, not probing into space that has already been settled, but to see something truly new.”

 “I hope so. At least we have the Shrouded Stars to look forward to.”

 “Maggie!” Carpenter’s voice called, as the paleontologist came running over to her, panting for breath. “I’ve found it! A way through!”

 “Calm down,” Mulenga said. “What have you found?”

 “The deep vault our imaging sensors turned up? There’s way into the access tunnel, a natural fissure. We can get in easily, just a small charge.”

 “Explosives? In an archaeological site?” Mulenga said, frowning. “I have little experience, but that seems rather destructive. Would it not be better to proceed with more caution?”

 “I’ve looked at the shaft a dozen times, and all we have to do is knock out a few rocks. Just to get access, we won’t touch the site itself.”

 Nodding, he replied, “We can enter in the morning.”

 Orlova looked across at him with a smile, and said, “I have a feeling that if we do that, our Science Officer won’t sleep a wink. Between you and I, neither would I.” 

 “We’ve got everything we need right here,” Carpenter said.

 With a smile, Mulenga nodded, and said, “You two go and have your fun. Ferguson and I will stay up here on the surface; we can go down in the morning at a more civilized hour. I don’t think the artifacts you will find are going anywhere.”

 Carpenter headed off towards the camp while Orlova lingered behind with Mulenga, following at a steadier pace.

 “Eager, isn’t she,” she said.

 “This is her life’s work, and she never expected to be able to practice her profession in person. Now she will have the opportunity, presumably at sites all across this part of the galaxy. She spent weeks with the Neander while you were gone, interviewing and researching. They seemed as interested to learn about us as she was about them.”

 “I’m not surprised. They’ve joined the interstellar community.”

 “Whether they like it or not,” he said, frowning. “I am less certain that we are doing a good thing here.”

 “What do you mean?” 

 “These people have lived an idyllic life here on this world, away from the cares of the galaxy, preserving their own culture and society. Now we will be militarizing this world as a forward base for operations against the Cabal, and they find themselves stuck in a war zone.”

 “That’s a little pessimistic, isn’t it?”

 “They haven’t chosen to become a part of our fight. We never gave them a choice.”

 “There wasn’t a choice. This system has a strategic position. Today. In a hundred years from now, it could be anything from a major world to an isolated backwater. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I do know this.” She waved her hand around, and continued, “This world is dying. Without outside intervention, all they have to long forward to is a slow, lingering death as their biosphere crumbles around them. We could prevent that. Isn’t that worth the risk?”

 “Everything dies, Maggie. In its proper time and place, as it should be. We’re risking hastening that process. This world is on a knife-edge, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter what remains.”

 Carpenter ran over, a backpack swinging in her hands, and said, “I’ve got the gear.”

 “Coming, Susan,” Orlova said, looking over to Mulenga. “I don’t think I can agree with you.”

 “You’re still young.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I think I’m going to call Alamo and get to bed. Let me know if you need anything.”

 As he walked away, Carpenter asked, “What was that about?”

 “The future,” Orlova replied.

 “Right now I’m more interested in the past. Do you realize how significant this discovery could be? We’ve learned so much, but all it’s given us so far is a lot more questions. I’d like to see if we could answer some of them.”

 “You called it a vault,” Orlova said. “How old?”

 “Old enough to date back to the original settlers of this world,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe ten thousand years, more. As old as the oldest civilizations on Earth, and back then people were flying among the stars.”

 The rocky outcrop Carpenter had found loomed over them, and Orlova could see a thin crack, far too small to enter, in which the scientist started to carefully place explosives. She looked back at Orlova.

 “Must have been an earthquake at some point. The fissure opens up after only a few feet, then it’s big enough to walk down.”

 “That suggests it was artificial.”

 “Probably. They had to get down there somehow. Give me a hand.”

 Gingerly molding some of the explosives into position, she replied, “I wonder if someone will be doing this on Mars in ten thousand years from now, or on Earth.”

 “Interesting thought.”

 “We blindly assume that our civilization will continue to progress, always continue to advance, but I’m sure they thought the same when they first settled here all those years ago. Now their descendants are scattered, scraping a living from the dirt.”

 Carpenter paused, and turned to her, “You’re in an odd mood tonight.”

 “Mulenga got me thinking a little. I guess it’s an occupational hazard.”

 “I think that’s the last one. We’d better stand back.”

 The two of them slowly walked to a safe distance, kneeling down behind a cluster of squat trees, and Carpenter pulled the detonator out of her pocket. With a single tap, they exploded in one titanic thunderclap, and a cloud of debris shot into the sky, rubble raining down all around them. Orlova looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

 “Think we might have overdone things a little?”

 “No, we had to get down deep enough. Look!” she said, pointing at the slowly dispersing cloud. Much of the outcrop had collapsed, but there was a shaft leading down, heading underground. Carpenter turned with a triumphant stare, then rose, walking towards it with purposeful strides.

 “Wait for me,” Orlova said, rushing after her. She looked down at her holster, making sure that her pistol was in position and ready; something in the back of her mind was warning her of trouble ahead. Carpenter seemed not to have noticed, though; she pulled a pair of torches out of her pack and tossed one to Orlova, turning the other on and pointing them ahead. Then she paused, looking down.

 “I didn’t expect this.”

 “What?” Orlova replied, moving to her sides. Instead of a long tunnel down, they had uncovered a series of worn steps, heading down into darkness, and the remnants of a metal handhold ran down the side.

 “This wasn’t a vault, it was a shelter. There was a war here, remember,” Orlova said. “Perhaps this will be even more interesting than you were expecting.”

 “Thousands of years since anyone has used these,” Carpenter said as she took the first uncertain step, then continued to walk. “Let’s see what’s down there.”

 After a few dozen paces, the shaft abruptly turned to the left, and soon what little light from the surface was gone, the gloom illuminated only by their torches, shafts of illumination cutting into the darkness. Orlova shone her torch up around the room, and confirmed her suspicions. This tunnel was far too smooth to have been hacked out with picks or stone tools – it had been machine built, and built to last, at that.

 “Maggie, shine your torch down to the right,” Carpenter said. “I think that’s writing!”

 Peering at the shadows, Orlova could just make out a series of carved lines and crosses on the wall, circles and dots scattered seemingly at random around them. Carpenter looked closer at them, holding her torch high to get a closer look, while Orlova pulled out her datapad.

 “I’ll get some pictures,” she said. “Anything you recognize?”

 “No,” she replied. “I’d like to get one of the Neander down here, see if this matches any of their old languages. They’re post-literate, but I’d bet that some of them have samples of writing hidden away somewhere.”

 Orlova pressed a pair of buttons on her datapad, and jumped as it read out, “Wolf. Sky. Arrow.”

 “What was that?” Carpenter said.

 “Translator kicking in,” Orlova said in disbelief. “It’s reading it!”

 “That’s impossible.”

 “Not if it is a language somewhere in the databank.” She tapped the screen again. “Proto-Indo-European, with an estimated accuracy of twenty-one percent.” Frowning, she continued, “That isn’t very good.”

 “That’s a bit out of my field,” Carpenter said, “but that language isn’t as old as the Neander departure from Earth. Not back that far. Unless it goes back further than we thought. This is amazing!”

 “Have we got it all?” Orlova asked, flashing her torch around the bare walls.

 “I think so. We can set up some proper lighting later on, anyway, get a better look at it.”

 “Could you read it?”

 “With a big enough sample, the computers on Alamo might be able to take a decent crack at it. We might need some special software, though, and I’d hate to have to ask the UN for help.” She looked down, shaking her head, and said, “Well, that’s the final proof.” Kneeling to the ground, she picked up a long pick, glistening slightly in the light.

 “What is it?”

 “I think you’ll find that it was used to write on those walls. That’s a diamond-coated pick, and I’d bet you’ll find it was created artificially.” She smiled, then said, “This is nothing like the books I read. All the digs I studied were of primitive sites. We need an industrial archaeologist or two. We must make sure that a scientific team comes out here with the reinforcements.”

 “I’m not sure I like that,” Orlova said. “These people aren’t exhibits.”

 “They can teach us so much,” Carpenter pressed. “They have legends dating back fifty thousand years. We’ve got to get them recorded and preserved.”

 “Let’s get going,” Orlova replied, taking the lead down the steps. Somehow, she was beginning to feel that she was intruding here, venturing into a sacred place. The last time anyone had been here, the first cities had been abuilding on Earth, civilizations rising and falling through time. It was an odd feeling, to say the least.

 “Here we are,” Carpenter said, flashing up her torch. A pair of twisted metal doors hung in the threshold, obviously having been destroyed, and there were burn marks everywhere. It was obvious that a pitched battle had been fought for this spot, and equally as obvious that the defenders had lost their fight.

 Stepping through the door, Carpenter looked around, making her way immediately for the far side of the room. Orlova followed her, flashing her torch around; there were scattered piles of debris everywhere, piles of rubble and shattered glass, even after millennia. She coughed a couple of times, the air smelling worse than usual, and then heard a tapping sound from behind them.

 Turning, she saw a small canister rolling down the stairs, and as she watched, a thick green gas started to leak from it, sending her choking. Immediately, she looked around for cover, kneeling down on the ground, and found a dense pile of rubble.

 “Get over here, Susan! Right now!”

 “What’s going on?” she said, choking as she stumbled over to her.

 “Don’t know. Get under cover.”

 The two of them dived under the rubble, and Orlova swung her torch into the wall, sending more dirt and dust showering onto them. It started getting harder to breathe, and the green gas was filling the room. Carpenter was out cold, her breathing getting shallow, and she was fighting unconsciousness, her eyes flickering shut, until finally they closed, the rubble swallowing her up. With her last act, she turned out the torches, and all was darkness.

 Her mind played tricks on her as she slept, and she could see people moving around the room, as though she was with them for their last battle, bestial forms chasing out of the night as she fought for her life, surrounded by old friends – Esposito, Carpenter, Cunningham, Caine, Zabek, some dead, some just distant. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she woke up.

 The room was just as before, but the gas had dissipated. Carpenter was snoring, a deceptively normal sound in the situation; tapping her datapad, she saw that nine hours had elapsed since she had fallen unconscious. Pushing the rubble away, she climbed to her feet, pulling her pistol from her holster. Carpenter started to groan, and Orlova shook her until her eyes opened.

 “What the hell happened?”

 “We were attacked. A gas grenade.” She glanced around, but it was gone. “Don’t ask me who did it, but we’ve been out for hours.”

 “Hey, it’s gone!” Carpenter said, looking over to the far side of the room.

 “What?”

 “There was a body, a skeleton, over in the corner. I was just taking some photographs when you called me. It isn’t there.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Look,” she said, flashing her torch around. “There’s an outline where it was in the dust.”

 “And footprints on the ground,” Orlova said, looking at the floor. “We were lucky.”

 “What about the others, on the surface?” she replied. “Shouldn’t they have come looking for us by now?”

 “They must have been attacked as well. No other way down here.” She flashed her torch up the stairs, half-expecting them to have been blocked, but they seemed clear. “We’d better get out of here.”

 Anxiously, they climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time in their haste to return to the surface. Daylight shone down the shaft as they ascended, the sun high in the sky as they walked out into the desert floor, sprinting over to their camp. Orlova looked around, and the footprints head off towards the horizon, something to chase up later.

 “Good God!” Carpenter said, first to arrive at the camp. The bodies of Mulenga and Ferguson lay in the dust, blood dried around the bullet holes in their corpses. A thin layer of sand coated them from the morning dust devils, as though the planet was already starting to lay them to rest. Orlova closed her eyes, counted to ten, then pulled her communicator from her belt.

 “Orlova to Alamo. Request immediate Espatier force and forensic team.”

 “Alamo here!” Steele said. “We’ve been trying to get you for hours. There’s a shuttle on the way now. What happened?”

 “Mulenga and Ferguson have been murdered.”

Chapter Eight

 Marshall was just about to turn the page when all the lights went out. He dropped his datapad down on the bed, and cautiously walked over to the window, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. Outside, the searchlights had all gone dead, and he could see a pair of guards running around, one of them carrying a toolkit. Some sort of malfunction, and hopefully a serious one. He took an experimental breath, but that meant nothing. If the life support system had failed it would be hours before the air went bad.

 Not that he had any intention of staying here that long. No matter what the Commandant had told him, he knew full well that he was under surveillance at all times, hidden cameras and microphones tracking his every move. Which was exactly what he would have done in their place, it wasn’t anything he was arguing with. Still, he had an opportunity that he had to exploit.

 He’d been wearing part of his uniform, and after a brief pause while he considered changing back into the gray prison jumpsuit, reached for his jacket. Neither outfit was exactly inconspicuous, but he felt better back in Triplanetary field uniform again. Reaching up for his respirator, he checked that it was fully charged, and clipped it to his belt, near the empty holster. Then he tapped the door, and was not at all surprised when it failed to open. Evidently the fail-safe was keeping it closed.

 Shaking his head, he pulled out the inspection panel, and was confronted by a tangle of wires and cables. Pulling the wrong one would likely seal him inside, though that would hardly make matters worse. Struggling to remember his engineering training, he followed what he thought was the correct wire back to its source and gave it a sharp, firm tug, and the door opened.

 Then he waited for a second. There was only one way out, and if a guard was going to come and stop him, he might as well give him a minute to respond. When no-one arrived, he cautiously moved out into the corridor, walking past the closed doors, heading for the turning at the end of the hall. The dining room door was open, and he could hear a groaning noise coming from inside.

 Moving over to the door, he peered inside, and saw a shape lying on the floor in the gloom. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he stepped over to the figure, kneeling down by its side, and frowned. It was one of the guards, unconscious, with a growing bruise on his head. He quickly checked the man’s pulse, found it steady, and made sure he wasn’t in any danger before looking down at his holster. Much to his surprise, there was a pistol present, and he gratefully snatched it out, checked that it was loaded, and stuffed it in his own holster.

 One of the tablecloths, wrapped around and around, served tolerably well as an improvised rope, and he made sure that the guard couldn’t come after him when he woke up, then climbed to his feet and edged carefully out of the room, making his way down the far corridor.

 This was the habitation level, and a plan was beginning to appear in his mind as he headed for the emergency shaft. He might not be able to walk out of here, but he could fly out of here. If he could get back to the Smoke, that would be something – getting off-world was his top priority, and that would be a lot easier if he had a hostage. With luck, he’d soon have a rather high profile figure under his control.

 He scaled down the ladder, braced for the lights to come back on and alarms to ring. Finding the guard unconscious had raised more questions; perhaps he was not the only prisoner here after all, and someone else had been more successful at their escape attempt than he had. It could even have been an accident in the gloom, but that seemed like too big a coincidence.

 Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he pushed the door open a crack and looked out. There was a green light at the far end of the corridor, coming out of the only open door, and the sound of someone moving around down there. Pulling his newly acquired pistol out of his pocket, he started to edge into the corridor, then paused and looked at the sidearm, checking for a trap. Short of firing it, he couldn’t be sure that it would work, but he had no intention of using it in any case. Not unless he had to.

 In twenty quick paces, he dashed down the side of the corridor and stood beside the door, looking inside to see the Commandant sitting at his desk, frantically typing commands into a terminal. Marshall cursed under his breath; he was calling for help, summoning reinforcements. If this was going to work, he’d have to pull it off immediately, and he dived inside, gun pointed dead at the Commandant’s chest.

 “Stay absolutely still,” he said, and the Commandant held his fingers on the keyboard.

 “I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here,” he replied.

 “Stand up, slowly.” Again, the Commandant complied. “Now move over into the corridor.”

 “I really need to finish what I am doing,” he said.

 With a smile, Marshall waved his gun to the right and edged to the other side. “I’m sure you want to, but I’m rather less sure that it would serve my interests. Let’s keep the hands held high for the moment, and not think of doing anything silly.”

 “I assure you, I have no intention of acting in such a foolish manner,” the Commandant said as he complied with Marshall’s instructions. “I would suggest that you should finish my work instead.”

 “You’ve got to be out of your mind,” he replied. “Why would I arrange for my own recapture?”

 “Who do you think knocked out the power? The guards will shortly reactivate it if I don’t complete the sequence, however.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Nice try, but I don’t believe you for a second. What would you have to gain?”

 “Everything, perhaps. If you don’t believe me, perhaps you would care to look at the display? I assure you that I will do nothing while you work.”

 “Forgive me for not immediately trusting you,” Marshall said, curiosity compelling him to quickly glance down at the screen. What he saw caused him to look more closely; there were power distribution charts on the display, and the commands in the recent activities file were for deactivation. 

 “Why would you do this?”

 “It is really quite simple, Captain. Having failed to stop you on two separate occasions, I am well aware that my life will likely shortly be forfeit, or at the very least, my position. I have no wish to become an indentured worker myself, and you can see that I would be eager to explore alternative possibilities.”

 “Meaning?”

 “Meaning, Captain, that I wish to defect to the Triplanetary Confederation, and I not only formally request this of you, but also your assistance in escaping.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “I don’t buy it. It’s got to be a trick. You can’t actually be serious about this.”

 “I was the one who knocked out the guard; he found me disabling certain safety systems in the upper level. I presume that is where you acquired the sidearm.”

 “If you wanted to get away, surely you could find an easier way than fighting your way out of a secured installation.”

 “Ah, but I would not have had your presence to guarantee my safe conduct once I reached Mariner Station, would I? I need you, Captain, and not to put too fine a point on it, you need me as well. Though if you choose, you can simply shoot me and attempt to get away by yourself. I venture your odds would not be favorable.”

 Glancing down at the screen again, Marshall tapped a couple of commands, enough to confirm that all of the system shutdowns were genuine enough. He looked up at the Commandant, standing in the doorway, and said.

 “Fine. Finish what you were doing. If the lights go on, I shoot.”

 “I quite understand,” he replied, hastily moving over to the console and starting to type. Looking over his shoulder, Marshall watched as much of his work as he could follow; the systems were foreign to him, and engineering had never been his specialty in any case.

 “Almost there. Just like old times,” the Commandant said, and with a triumphant tap, the terminal locked down. “Done it. all the lockdowns are intact. I just left traffic control up and running and the communications beacon.” Before Marshall could say anything, he continued. “The Dauntless would have noticed in an instant if we’d gone dark.”

 “Dauntless?”

 “My ship, up in orbit.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I guess I’ll never see it again. Well, what must be, must be. I suggest we depart as soon as possible. There is a civilian-type all-terrain vehicle waiting outside.”

 “You’ve really planned ahead.”

 “We’ll have to work our way between us after that. My accounts will be frozen as soon as I am registered as a deserter, so we should get off world as rapidly as possible. There are plenty of transports going back and forth from this planet.”

 “So once we reach the Smoke…”

 “I will leave the details to you. But first, we have to get out of the building.” The Commandant paused for a moment and snatched a respirator from the rack, quickly running a systems check before putting it in position. Marshall allowed him to lead the way down the corridor and away, keeping his pistol roughly covering him. This sudden change of loyalties seemed far too convenient for the moment, and he half-suspected he was being set up for a ‘shot while trying to escape’ death.

 Nevertheless, they made their way to the ladder, and the Commandant started down to the quarters deck, glancing up occasionally to make sure that Marshall was still following him. He strode out into the corridor with confident strides, glancing up and down, and turned left, heading towards one of the closed doors.

 “What about the rest of the guards?”

 “I issued orders that they should head for Guard Post One. That’s at the far end of the compound. By the time any of them can react, we should be well clear, and it will be some hours before they are able to communicate with anyone. We will need to be off-planet by then, ideally.”

 “With no money?”

 “I’ll commandeer a freighter, and it will be up to you to back that up if necessary.”

 “Your plan seems to get rather vague after we get away from here.”

 A smile on his face, he replied, “I didn’t have much time to make my preparations. I only found out yesterday that there were plans afoot to place me under arrest. Fortunately, I still have some allies left to me.”

 “The day you got me out of hock.”

 “My motivations…”

 “Are transparently obvious.”

 The Commandant paused, turned, and said, “I will not apologize for my actions, past or present, and you would not expect that of me. What I did benefited both of us.” He looked around, then added, “You haven’t formally granted me asylum.”

 “While I am a prisoner, I haven’t got the right. Let’s get ourselves out of here, then we can talk about that.”

 “As long as you intend to hold up your part of the bargain.”

 With a smile to match that of the Commandant, Marshall replied, “Either we will get out of here together, or we will die here together. I trust that I have made myself clear.”

 “As crystal. Come on. The airlock is just this way.”

 They walked down the corridor, Marshall still allowing his prisoner to take point. The airlock systems were all out, and the Commandant pulled down another inspection hatch, pumping a lever up and down, sweat beginning to build up on his forehead.

 “Damn designers,” he grunted. “The thing won’t engage.”

 Finally, with a clunk, it locked in position and the inner door opened; the two of them stepped inside. The Commandant reached over to a locker, and Marshall leveled his gun square at his hand, causing him to freeze.

 “After this, you still don’t trust me?”

 “You haven’t given me a good reason to yet.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “It’s dark outside. I thought a torch might come in handy. Unless you would rather stumble around out there?”

 Cautiously, Marshall reached over him, pulled open the compartment, and saw a series of torches locked into a charging station. The Commandant reached up for one, tested it, and then placed his respirator into position. Marshall did the same, though trying to put the mask on one-handed while keeping his attention was rather a challenge, and it took him a while before it was comfortably fitted.

 “Ready?” the Commandant asked.

 “I’m ready,” Marshall replied. “Let’s get on with it.”

 Another lever, and more strenuous effort before it locked into position, the doors sliding open into the night air, a thin oily drizzle raining down from the gray clouds. Marshall reached back and took a torch of his own; he could hardly see his hand in front of his face, and the two of them started to make their way across the compound. He flashed his light ahead, and it briefly illuminated a squat, tracked vehicle on the far side. At least that part of the story was the truth.

 A noise came from the Commandant’s pocket, and his eyes widened with alarm. Marshall motioned for him to freeze, then pulled out a datapad, red lights flashing on it. Tapping the control, a sensor display appeared, an object on an incoming approach track, by the looks of it fairly close to a landing.

 “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

 Turning to look, squinting into the darkness, the Commandant nodded, saying, “Incoming shuttle. There wasn’t one scheduled for tonight. We’d better get moving, fast.”

 The two of them started to race across the compound, heading towards the vehicle, but it was quickly obvious that they were not alone – another figure was rushing towards them, a gun in one hand, the other waving in the air.

 “Incoming shuttle, sir! Not on any of our beacons!” The guard turned to look at Marshall, and said, “What the hell…”

 Before he could say anything more, the Commandant pulled a pistol from a hidden pocket and fired a silent shot into the guard’s chest; he dropped backward to the ground, blood spilling out of his front. Marshall looked down at the twitching form, his mouth wide, then up at his killer.

 “You shot him,” he said, stunned.

 “Let me make it clear,” he replied with an iron tone that had never been evident before. “I am getting off this world. I need your assistance if I am to find a safe haven at the end of my journey. Any price I have to pay is acceptable.”

 “Give me the gun.”

 “Why?”

 “In case you decided that I’m an acceptable price. If this shuttle isn’t one of yours…”

 Sighing, the Commandant said as he passed it to him, “Evidently some of your people decided to launch an escape attempt.” He reached into another pocket, and tossed Marshall his communicator. “Might as well give it a try. Quickly, before someone comes to find out where Jackson went.”

 Giving the dead man a name just made it worse, but Marshall clipped the communicator into the respirator. “This is ground station to incoming shuttle. Identify yourself.”

 “Captain?” Cantrell’s voice replied. “What’s going on down there?”

 “Your timing is excellent. I’ve just managed to get clear of my cell. How long before you can be down on the deck?”

 “Thirty seconds to landing...this is…”

 “Time for that later, Spaceman.”

 “Yes. Hold on, this is tricky.”

 Frowning, Marshall looked up at the sky; he could see a small dot closing rapidly on their position, a trail of smoke behind it. He didn’t even know that Cantrell was a pilot, but anything to get them off this planet in a hurry. Of course, the rest of the guards were bound to spot it; as it slowed to a stop up above, playing its takeoff thrusters to lower it to the deck, he saw more figures heading their way, and fired a pair of shots to discourage them from hasty acts of heroism.

 The shuttle didn’t land, holding position a few feet above the ground, low enough that as the hatch opened, he could step on. He smiled as he saw Cooper looking down in disbelief at him, reaching down to help him up.

 “The Commandant first, Corporal,” he said.

 Cooper looked down at the other figure, shook his head, and helped the Cabal officer climb on board. Cantrell was holding the shuttle extremely steadily, and Marshall had little trouble scrambling after him, a few shots beginning to rattle the side of the hull. The hatch closed shut, and as the cabin filtered out the toxic atmosphere from outside, he took a sigh of relief; the acceleration as the shuttle sped towards escape velocity was a greater comfort than he had ever known.

 “I thought you were dead,” Marshall said to Cooper as he pulled his respirator off.

 “Almost, but not quite. I was expecting a heroic rescue attempt.”

 “Trust me, this is heroic enough. What’s the plan?”

 “Cantrell’s getting us up into orbit, she’s made some arrangement with a freighter captain.”

 “Excellent,” the Commandant said. “With a little luck, we should be out of the system by the end of the day.”

 Cooper pointed his rifle in his direction, and said, “What is he doing here?”

 “He helped me escape,” Marshall said.

 “And now that you are no longer a prisoner, you are at liberty to give me your answer.”

 Taking a deep breath, he replied, “I don’t even know your name.”

 A smile spreading across his face, he said, “Let’s make this more official, then. I, Commandant Pierre Leduc, formally petition for political asylum in the Triplanetary Confederation. Do you accept, Lieutenant-Captain Marshall?”

 Looking down at the fast-receding surface below, Marshall said, “On behalf of the Triplanetary Senate, subject to official confirmation, I grant you asylum. Of course, that’s going to mean a hell of a lot more when we get back to Mariner Station.”

Chapter Nine

 Cooper settled into the co-pilot’s seat next to Cantrell as she expertly manipulated the shuttle’s controls, sending them coasting up into orbit on at least a semblance of a normal flight path. The sensor display showed them on their own, no other shuttles heading up, but a swarm of freighters and other ships in orbit.

 “It wasn’t this busy before,” he said.

 “A convoy showed up the day of your operation. About a dozen ships and a couple of battlecruisers, both of them rather banged up. Interesting that they feel they have to protect their merchant shipping.”

 “They must know that Alamo is out of the way now, surely.”

 “You’re assuming that we’re the only ones they are worried about.” She reached down, tapping the screen, and continued, “That’s where we’re heading. The Brunel. Deep-space long-range transport, and they’ve done the run to Sinbad Station in the past. Never to Hydra, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

 “You spoke to the Captain?”

 “This morning, to warn him that we would be moving out ahead of schedule. He seemed a little hesitant.”

 “You think that there might be a problem?” Cooper asked.

 “Let’s be honest, we’re asking him to commit a pretty major violation of the law for our benefit, and we’re not offering him that much. A hundred thousand credits is a lot to pay for passage, but not for chartering a ship.”

 “We’ll offer him a cargo.”

 “He’s got to take our word for that.” She gestured towards the rear compartment, where Marshall and the Commandant were talking, and continued, “I wasn’t expecting to have those two on board, either.”

 Cooper turned to her, and said, “You didn’t tell him about the Captain?”

 “Use your head. He’d have been well paid for selling our little commando raid out, wouldn’t he. Besides,” she added, “I didn’t think we’d pull it off.”

 His face fell into a frown, and he replied, “You thought we’d end up shooting him.”

 “Yes, if I’m honest. I couldn’t believe it when he just walked down the field towards the shuttle. I’m still having trouble buying it.”

 Nodding, Cooper replied, “So am I. This is all going too damn well at the moment. You think it might be a trap?”

 “Yes, but I generally think that everything I run into might be a trap. It’s the safest way to operate in my profession.” A pair of lights flashed on her console, and she threw a switch. “We’re getting close to docking now. Take a look.”

 Switching on the forward view, Cooper examined the ship that he would hopefully be calling home for the next month. A pair of spheres, one larger than the other, connected by a tangle of girders and cables, solar arrays almost randomly scattered around in between antenna and docking ports. It reminded him of some of the last-century inter-system transports, and it dawned on him that there was a good chance that was exactly what it was; a few of them had been equipped with early models of the hendecaspace drive, though none of them had been in service since the War. It looked old, battle-worn, but there was a comforting familiarity in its lines.

 Turning to the back, Cooper said, “Captain, you and our...guest...had better stay clear until we get everything arranged on board.”

 “Understood, Corporal. You’re in charge for this part.”

 “This is Sub-Lieutenant Cantrell’s show, not mine,” he said, stressing the rank to Marshall’s confusion.

 “Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Long story.”

 With a resounding clang, the shuttle locked into position at the docking port, and the primary hatch opened, a nervous-looking man standing at the threshold, looking between the two of them as they moved to face him. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, shaking his head.

 “Are you ready? I want to get rid of this shuttle as soon as possible.”

 “Do we still have a deal, Captain?” Cantrell asked.

 “Yes, yes, we do. Come on, the last thing we need is the Proctor showing up.” He looked at Cooper, and said, “You must be the fugitive. You don’t look that dangerous.”

 “Appearances can be deceptive,” he replied with as menacing a tone as he could manage. “We’ve had to change the deal a little.”

 “Change it?” he said. “How?”

 Pushing through the hatch and into the ship, Cantrell said, “There are two more of us than we were expecting. We all still want to go to Hydra Station, though.”

 “Two more? Fugitives? Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” Another pair of figures drifted up beside him, a man and a woman, both wearing crew jumpsuits. The man had a pistol in his hand, an antique that still looked extremely deadly; he stayed clear of the others, keeping his firing lines open. The woman, long red hair curling around, frowned.

 “What’s going on, Philippe?” the woman asked. “Are these the passengers you told us about?”

 Cantrell drifted closer, and said, “We’re willing to go to a hundred thousand credits, as long as you don’t ask any annoying questions about the others.”

 “A hundred thousand?” the man said, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of money, skipper.”

 “Too much money,” he replied. “What are you hiding?”

 Marshall pushed forward, the Commandant just behind him, and said, “We are fugitives, but I give you my word that we are not dangerous. We just need to get to Hydra Station. I understand that you have been promised a valuable cargo; we are at liberty to provide it.”

 “We’d make that much in a normal run,” the balding man replied. “Not worth the risk.”

 “You would,” the woman said. “We wouldn’t. You said you’d split this.” 

 Snapping at her, he replied, “I’d share the prison sentence as well. You want to become an indent? Either of you? This isn’t worth it.” Turning to the man with the pistol, he said, “Tarrant, these men are to be encouraged to leave, immediately.”

 Cooper had his pistol out within a second, and Marshall was only a little slower. “I’d advise against that course of action.”

 “This is piracy, damn it!”

 “No,” Cantrell said. “We’re still willing to honor the terms of our agreement. A hundred thousand credits to get us safely to Hydra Station.”

 “I recognize him,” the woman said, pointing at the Commandant. “Isn’t he the commander of Dauntless? What is he doing here?”

 “What I am doing here is my business,” the Commandant replied, “and you are being offered a considerable sum of money in order to keep it that way. I would strenuously recommend that you take it.”

 “This could be official,” the woman said.

 “Miss Newton, if it was official business, he’d be wearing a proper uniform that wasn’t splattered in mud, and would be wielding all manner of documentation. He’s as desperate to keep this quiet as are. A million credits or you are leaving,” the captain said to Cantrell.

 Cooper looked at Newton, and asked, “Are you the First Mate?”

 “Yes.”

 He glanced at Cantrell, smiled, and said, “We’ll make you the same offer. You can command this ship and get it to Hydra Station, a hundred thousand credits, and title to the ship.”

 “This ship is not yours to offer!”

 “The pistol in my hand suggests otherwise.” He turned to Tarrant, and said, “We’ll set the two of you up with a two-ship company, and guarantee you an exclusive trade route.”

 “You’re lying!” the captain yelled, leaping for a button on the wall. Before Cooper could stop him, alarms were echoing throughout the ship. “Take him, Tarrant!”

 “Wait a minute,” Tarrant said. “That’s a very generous offer. Too generous.”

 “Our need is urgent,” Cantrell said.

 “They’re making it all up. This other ship, trade routes…”

 “Then you still have a hundred thousand credits, half in advance.” 

 Newton paused, and said, “More. Tell us who you are. No lies. I know he’s a Cabal officer,” she said, gesturing at the Commandant, “but I want to know about the rest of you.”

 Cooper glanced at Marshall, who nodded, and said, “I am Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, commanding officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. This is Sub-Lieutenant Cantrell, and Lance-Corporal Cooper of my Espatier force.”

 “Alamo? You’re the ones who took on the fleet at Gliese…”

 “Yes, they are,” the Commandant interrupted. “I would strongly recommend that you consider your next moves extremely carefully. I will testify that they are able to follow through on their promises.”

 “Call the Proctor,” the balding captain said, as four more people moved around the bend in the corridor, all of them armed. “We’ll get a nice fat reward for this day’s work.”

 “The question being whether your crew will ever see any of it,” Cantrell said.

 “That is none of your affair,” he said.

 One of the men behind him mumbled, “A hundred thousand credits is a lot of money. Even split sixteen ways.” 

 “These people are traitors,” the captain said, “and Singh, you are verging close to mutiny.”

 “Hell, I’m crossing over that line,” Tarrant said. “You’d better keep your word, Captain.” He turned his gun to cover his erstwhile boss. “Let’s have the hands up.”

 Cooper turned to cover the rest of them, but none of them seemed to have any particular stomach for fighting. Newton looked at the two groups, as if weighing up the odds in her mind, and finally nodded.

 “I’ll skipper Brunel for you. Tarrant, you can get the other ship.” Pulling a small pistol from a hidden pocket, she said, “We’d better get rid of this waste of space. Anyone here want to go with him? I get the idea this won’t be the safest trip we’ve ever done.”

 Cantrell ducked back into the shuttle, disappearing from view for a second, while two of the men moved up behind the former commander of the Brunel, Cooper glanced after her, then, guessing what she was doing, smiled.

 “Can you fly a shuttle, Captain?”

 “What?” the man grunted. “I’ll see you all shot for this. All of you. This is piracy.”

 “Answer the question.”

 “He can,” Tarrant said. “Not very well, despite his boasting, but after a fashion.”

 “Good,” Cantrell replied as she ducked out. “I’ve knocked out the communicator and set you on a course that will bring you down to at least a semblance of a landing in about six hours. You’ll have to do some tinkering if you don’t want to crash. I’d say the shuttle is worth about thirty thousand, but the owner will likely be expecting back.”

 “Relax,” Tarrant said with a sneer. “You’ve got insurance you can cash in.” Then he smiled, and said, “No, wait, you were too cheap to pay for any. I guess you’ll have to hope some idiot’s willing to promote you a loan.”

 “Fifty thousand credits if you stop this madness.”

 “Sorry, you’ve been outbid,” Tarrant said, tossing him into the shuttle cabin and securing the lock with a slam. There were a loud crash as it detached from the side of the freighter, heading on its long path down to the planet.

 With one last glance at the lock, Newton said, “Right, everyone to their stations. We’re going to have to break out of orbit, and if the trail on the four of you is as hot as I suspect, we need to do it now. Tarrant, get down to engineering and get the drive ready. Standard course for Hydra Station, we’ll use the shortcut.”

 “Shortcut?” Marshall said, his eyes widening. “The brown dwarves, you know about them?”

 “Of course,” she said. “You don’t think this ship hauled legal cargoes, did you? Best way to get past the border controls, and it’s usually a hell of a lot quieter out here. Hell, we’ve been as far as Spitfire Station before.”

 “You’ve been to the Confederation?”

 “The Cabal rather considered Spitfire to be in their sphere of influence,” the Commandant said, “though I understand that situation has changed with the imposition of direct military control. My guess is that the routes between Spitfire and Hydra will be snarled for some time.”

 Tarrant paused, then said, “That wasn’t the route you were offering, was it?”

 “After a fashion, but we’ve got a shortcut of our own,” Marshall said, glancing at the Commandant before continuing, “We’ll fill you in on the details later.”

 “Another passage?” the Commandant said. “Most interesting.”

 “Come on, then,” Newton said. “We’ve got to get moving.” She pushed off down the corridor, gracefully swinging down towards the elevator, the four of them following, sliding inside just as the doors closed.

 “I get the impression you’re not new to this,” Cooper said.

 “My predecessor was rather more of a hands-off captain. And in case you were wondering, he got this ship essentially the same way, though he used some creative accountancy rather than the barrel of a gun. Weep no tears for him.”

 “Good,” Marshall said. “I wasn’t planning too.”

 The doors opened on a surprisingly well-appointed bridge, with a pair of men floating in front of the helm controls, pistols pointed at the car. Cooper and Cantrell were ready, their own pistols pointed. Newton gestured at one of them with a smile.

 “Our former Captain’s nephew, and even fewer wits than he had. Put that stupid thing away, Anatole, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

 “I won’t,” he said. “Not until I get some assurances. I was meant to be the next commander of this ship, my uncle promised me.”

 “I wouldn’t trust you with command of a wrench,” Newton replied. “You’ll get paid. That will have to do for now.”

 Reluctantly, he put the gun away and drifted towards the rear of the bridge. The other man looked at him, holstered his weapon, and moved over to one of the consoles.

 “I’m John Fuller, comm-tech, and I guess I don’t mind a change in management. It wouldn’t be the first time. You’re finally taking command, Anne?”

 “At long last. Five captains, and each one a bigger fool than the last.”

 “Just do a better job than they did.”

 “Where’s the rest of the bridge crew?” Cantrell asked.

 “On the way up, I hope.”

 “To hell with that,” Marshall said, moving to the helm. “I reckon we’ll do better. Cantrell take sensors. Cooper, can you monitor flight engineering?” 

 With a smile, he replied, “I think I know enough to warn you if any lights are flashing red.” 

 “Tarrant knows his stuff,” Newton said. “Everything should be fine. Well, Captain Marshall, set a course for the egress point, maximum acceleration, and I’ll start work on our course. Fuller, let Traffic Control know about the change of plan, that we’re shaping earlier than expected, and tell them that we are heading for Goliath.”

 Marshall settled down at the helm, Cantrell moving over to the communications station, alert for any potential treachery, while Cooper settled down to enjoy the ride. The engines fired, acceleration pushing him back in his seat, and slowly they began to move away from the planet, the dull brown ball at last beginning to recede.

 “On course,” Marshall said. “Egress point in one hour, forty-two minutes.”

 “Good. Cease acceleration,” Newton said. “I want to follow a standard exit profile. No point bringing more attention to ourselves.”

 “Uh-oh,” Fuller said. “I just got a fugitive warning. A Corporal Cooper is wanted on charges of grand larceny and murder. No mention of the rest of you by name, but he has an accomplice that looks remarkably like you from the description.”

 “Just an alert?” Newton asked. “Nothing more than that?”

 With a deep sigh, he said, “We’re to pause for inspection by customs cutter. They’ll match our course and be with us in an hour.”

 Newton turned to Marshall, and said, “I’m about to take a big risk with nineteen lives. Tell me that it is justified.”

 “We will follow through with everything Cooper said, always presuming that we make it back to Hydra Station. You have my word as an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “In that case, Captain, engage maximum acceleration. Get us there as rapidly as possible. We’ve got enough of a head-start that we ought to outpace them.”

 “Anne, is that wise?” Fuller said. “If they catch us, that goes a couple of steps further. No-one’s going to care too much about our latest ex-Captain, but this is serious business.”

 “Engaging maximum acceleration,” Marshall said. “Hang on, this could get rough. I’m cranking her up to five Martian gravities. New estimated time to target is twenty-one minutes, but we’ll be using up a lot of our reserves.”

 “That’s fine,” Newton replied. “We can refuel at one of the depots on the way.”

 “What depots?” Cantrell said. “We didn’t spot any on the way out.”

 “You just have to know where to look. You’d be surprised how well the Guild can hide its caches when it wants too.”

 “Guild?”

 “Dauntless is on the move,” Cantrell said, looking over her station. “Making course for the egress point, and they’ll have a few seconds for a firing solution. Missile battlecruiser by the look of it, unless they have any surprises. What about it, Commandant? It was your ship.”

 “They have particle beams for point-defense, but only missiles to attack us here. I suspect that they won’t have much of an opportunity to do us any real damage, so long as you proceed quickly.”

 “They’re hailing us,” Fuller said. “Want to speak to the commanding officer.”

 “Ignore them,” Newton said. “Let’s pretend that we’re deaf and dumb.”

 The crew focused on their tasks for the next twenty minutes, the enemy battlecruiser inexorably drawing closer and closer as it ranged in for the kill. Cooper sat, fuming, knowing that there was nothing he could do but watch; he was out of his element again.

 “Firing range in twenty-two seconds,” Cantrell said. “Egress point in fifty-nine. Wait a second. Energy spike!”

 “They’ve got a longer range than we thought.”

 “If I may?” the Commandant said, walking over to the communications station. He entered a rapid sequence of commands, and the incoming missile tracks winked out, vanishing from the screen.

 “All missiles detonated,” Cantrell said, looking up at him. “We’re clear.”

 “Don’t be too impressed. That trick won’t work twice. I suggest we depart.”

 “Good idea. Captain, you have the call.”

 “Aye, ma’am, I have the call. Activating drive.” As he manipulated the controls and the comforting blue light flashed to herald their entry to other-dimensional space, Cooper breathed a sigh of relief, before Cantrell turned to them.

 “We’ve got company. Dauntless jumping after us. Right on our tail. We’re not out of the woods let.” She smiled, then said, “Though at least we’ve got time to work out what to do.”

Chapter Ten

 Orlova watched from the shade of the shuttle as the Espatier team jogged towards her, racing parallel to the tracks she had found at the murder site. Carpenter was still busy taking photographs of the area, a trio of troopers standing guard, their eyes scanning the horizon. Sergeant Forrest panted as he reached her, and saluted.

 “Sorry, ma’am. They stop after about two miles, and there are burn marks on the site. Looks a lot like a shuttle takeoff.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Alamo didn’t see anything, nor did the orbiting satellites. If someone’s messing around with our sensors…” she shook her head, then said, “Thanks, Sergeant. Continue to secure the perimeter.”

 “Aye, ma’am. I’d suggest you get upstairs and have the medics take a look at you.”

 “I’m fine.”

 “Of course, but even so,” he said, glancing at the shuttle.

 Nodding, she replied, “I ought to go and make my report, anyway. Susan, are you about finished?”

 She looked over, and shouted, “Yes, but I want to take another look at the site. See if we missed anything, or if our visitors did any damage. Odds are they picked it clean. Someone should stay down here, anyway.”

 “I’d rather not linger too long,” Forrest said, looking out at the camp site. The bodies had already been shipped back up to Alamo, but Orlova could still see them in her mind, more friends lost forever. “Think we can be out of here before dark?”

 “I think that would be a very good idea. That gives you about six hours; I want you back up on Alamo in four, no matter what Carpenter says. Understood.”

 “We’ll get her home if we have to drag her. I’ll put some surveillance kit out, though, in case anyone decides to check up during the night.”

 “Good idea. See you later.” She climbed on board the shuttle and made her way forward to the passenger cabin, tapping a control. “Alamo and back, fast as you can,” she said to the pilot.

 “Aye, ma’am.”

 The shuttle’s engines roared into life, kicking up dust as they hurtled into the air, then out over the desert on their trajectory into orbit. She glanced down at the patch Forrest had mentioned, and it did look remarkably like a landing site, the burn marks in the ground a good match for the ones they had just left. The implications of that were extremely worrying.

 “Orlova to Alamo,” she said into her communicator, and Yorkina, the duty sensors technician, answered.

 “Yes, ma’am?”

 “I want a full check of all sensor systems, on Alamo and whichever satellite was orbiting the camp during the attack. As soon as possible.” 

 “We’ve already done a full diagnostic, Lieutenant.”

 “Then check the diagnostic systems and make sure they haven’t been tampered with. I don’t want to rule out sabotage, and we don’t know how deep this one might run.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 She sat in silence for the rest of the ride up to Alamo, occasionally looking out of the window at the planet below. Technically, she still had three days left of her leave, but under the circumstances she didn’t think the Major would object to her getting right back to work. She needed something to distract her, not more chances to dwell on what had happened.

 The shuttle pilot did a nice, conservative job guiding them up to orbit, and into a close rendezvous track; she would have tried to do it in one maneuver, and normally would have pushed her aside and taken the shuttle up herself, but somehow she didn’t feel like flying today, decidedly not normal for her.

 At last, Alamo loomed ahead in the view, and with some cautious pulses on the thruster jets, the pilot guided them up into the docking cradle, and a series of reassuring rattling on the hull saw them slowly rise up to the hangar deck, the hatch opening as the settled inside the pressurized level. The Major was waiting for her, a red-faced Doctor Duquesne standing next to him, her arms crossed.

 “Back down to the surface, Spaceman,” Orlova said as she rose to her feet. “And make sure to be ready for immediate blast-off if there is a problem. I don’t want to risk anyone being trapped down there.”

 “Will do, Lieutenant.”

 Duquesne looked at her as she stepped out onto the deck, shaking her head, and said, “You are going to have a full check-up, right now.”

 The Major smiled, then said, “I don’t think she has the time at the moment, and she looks well enough to me.”

 “I didn’t know you had a medical degree.”

 “Doctor, she has work to do. Come on, Maggie, there’s a staff meeting in ten minutes, and given that you are around, I’d like to have you there. Give your report on what happened.”

 “Such as it is,” she replied, turning to the doctor. “I’ll come down to sickbay as soon as we’re finished, before I do anything else. I can’t come to that much trouble sitting in a conference room, can I?”

 “On this ship? I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Glaring at the Major, she continued, “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it. Carpenter as well assuming she decides to put in an appearance.”

 “Come on, Maggie, I don’t want to be late for my own meeting,” the Major said, gently taking her by the elbow and guiding her towards the elevator. The shuttle descended down through the deck as she walked, a loud thump indicating its departure back down to the planet.

 “I gave orders to have the surface cleared by nightfall,” she said, as the two of them stepped through the doors. “It seemed like a good idea, and I don’t think we’re going to learn anything else from the site now.”

 “Good, good. I confirmed your orders on the diagnostic systems, as well. Good thinking.”

 “If there was another shuttle on the surface that we missed, I don’t like the implications of that. We should have picked it up easily. Was there any traffic to Hydra Station?”

 “Not according to their logs, but I sent Steele over to have a look in person with a couple of security technicians. I’m rather wary of trusting former Cabal personnel, no matter what loyalties they are professing at the moment.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “It would be the logical place for a saboteur to be hiding. I had worried about a fifth column element, though I would have thought they’d have picked a higher-profile target.”

 “They killed our Astrogator, Maggie. That’s a pretty major target.”

 The doors opened, and they hurriedly walked down the corridor, heading towards the conference room. Stepping inside, Orlova took her seat near the front, almost making for the Security Officer’s chair automatically before correcting herself at the last moment. The Major settled down at the head of the table. He looked enough like his son that it was an unnerving feeling, as if something was subtly wrong.

 Quinn and Bailey were sitting in their accustomed positions, Nelyubov looking uncomfortable as he sat opposite Orlova, glancing around at the others. The door opened, and Race hurried in, hesitating before sitting down at the far side of the room.

 “Thank you all for coming,” the Major said. “I think we should have a minute’s silence for Mr. Mulenga, before we begin.” The seconds dragged interminably before he looked up from the table and continued, “As of half an hour ago, I named Mr. Race Acting Lieutenant, and assigned him as Astrogator.”

 “Thank you, sir,” Race said. “I’ve been going over the course projections for the Shrouded Stars, and everything seems in order. We can break orbit as soon as you give the order.”

 “Excellent. Make sure you double-check all of your calculations. I don’t want any unnecessary risks. I think we all know what the primary topic of his meeting is going to be, so let’s get everything else out of the way first. Maggie, who have you in mind to take Flight Ops on Beta Shift?”

 “Do you mind if I go enlisted?”

 “Not at all. Officers are getting a bit thin on the ground, and I don’t like people pulling double duty on the bridge except in emergencies. Who did you have in mind?”

 “Senior Spaceman Bradley. She’s got the experience, and I’m sure could be ready for the job in a few days with some refresher courses. I had a word with the Deck Chief, and he can manage the load with one fewer pilot.”

 “She’s a shuttle pilot,” Zebrova said, “and has just been through quite a major psychological trauma.”

 “Haven’t we all,” Nelyubov interrupted.

 Glaring at him, she continued, “I’m not sure this is such a good idea. Perhaps Tyler could handle it, at least for a while.”

 “Mr. Tyler is busy with his intelligence work, including debriefing the Ouroboros crew. I think it is an excellent idea to spread the load, and giving her a new challenge will take her mind off things,” the Major said. “Keep an eye on her, though, Maggie, make sure this isn’t too much to ask of her.”

 “Of course, sir.”

 “Good. With Acting Lieutenant Nelyubov at Tactical, I think that covers everything. Now all of you have read Maggie’s report on what happened on the surface. Without her quick thinking, it would have been four deaths rather than two, and it might have been some time before we knew what had happened. There’s a real danger here that we have compromised systems on Alamo, as well, if someone has managed to hide a shuttle from our systems.”

 Quinn said, “That doesn’t necessarily mean access to Alamo, of course. There’s been plenty of time for someone on the station – or down on the planet, for that matter – to infiltrate our systems, especially with all the calibration we’ve been doing with the satellite defense networks. Our security can only go so far.”

 Bailey looked at him, then back at the Major, saying, “We have no evidence that anyone has successfully infiltrated our system, sir.”

 “Which only means that our hacker friend was too sharp to be picked up, perhaps,” the Major replied. “I think that someone getting into our sensor systems is the most likely theory, and I intend for us to concentrate our search efforts on Hydra Station.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “I agree. It certainly seems the best place to start. We’ll have to liaise with Price, but I think it is in his interests that any potential saboteurs should be dealt with before we leave.”

 Zebrova shook her head, and replied, “I don’t think it follows at all. We’re making an assumption that the Cabal is responsible that I do not necessarily think is justified.”

 “On what basis?” 

 “Look at the evidence. They hit an archaeological site, and apparently stole relics from it. Why would they do that? And why now? If I was in their place, I’d wait until we were gone, until the station was at its most vulnerable, before choosing to launch such an operation.”

 “What’s your theory, then?” the Major asked.

 “The Neander could be involved.”

 “Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I find it rather hard to see that a bunch of cavemen could have infiltrated our systems or hijacked a shuttle.”

 Bailey frowned, and said, “We shouldn’t rule out that they might be working together for some reason. Alamo fought Neander troops at Hades Depot, remember, which suggests that they have some loyalists on their side.”

 “That is a good point, but my guess is that the station will prove to be the focus of the operation, and we will throw the whole weight of our investigation there.”

 “I still think we should look at other possibilities,” Zebrova said. “We shouldn’t limit ourselves too much at this stage of the investigation, or we’re going to miss something. With your permission, I would like to question some of the Neander leaders as a part of my work.”

 “Denied. In any event, I intend to handle this investigation myself.”

 “Sir, that’s the job of the Security Department,” Bailey replied. “If you no longer have confidence in my ability to fulfill my duties, then I must request to be relieved of my post.”

 “Damn it, Sandra, that isn’t what this is about at all. These are my men, and I want to find out who killed them, and I want to make sure that every trace of the Cabal is gone from this station before we leave. Is that clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” Zebrova said, sullenly. “There also remains the matter of Ouroboros. We’re going to have a difficult time crewing it without stripping too many of our key personnel. We could switch to a two-shift rotation…”

 “No,” the Major said. “I don’t want to leave Alamo short-handed, and I want to bring that ship with us as a backup. Nor do I intend to make use of the original crew, not as things stand. They have to be primary suspects for the sabotage.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I don’t see how we can do that, sir, not with the crew we have.”

 “I think we might manage it by shuffling some people around,” Orlova volunteered. “If I have a free hand to give a few people some training over here before we leave, then we might be able to scrape together a crew.”

 “There you are,” the Major said. “Submit your recommendations to me today, and I’ll take a look at them.”

 “Half-trained personnel are going to be difficult to handle, Major,” Zebrova said. “They’re going to need extremely close supervision.”

 “Excellent,” he said, turning to her. “In that case, Lieutenant, you will assume command of Ouroboros forthwith. Tyler can go with you as your Operations Officer, once he has completed his debriefings.”

 “Sir,” Bailey said, “That’s really a Lieutenant’s spot. Isn't Senior Lieutenant Zebrova a little senior for the job?”

 With a smile, the Major replied, “I appreciate your ambition, but I think this is a job for Lieutenant Zebrova.” He glanced at her, then back at the table, sitting back in his chair imperceptibly. “Lieutenant Orlova, you will assume the position of Executive Officer immediately.”

 “Sir?” she said, looking around. “Surely…”

 “I think you are the best choice of those present for the job.” No-one at the table missed the implied insult to Zebrova and Bailey, both of whom had far more seniority. Quinn likewise, but the engineer had no interest in command, and all present knew it. “If you have a problem, though…”

 Orlova was about to conjure up the politest rejection she could think of, before Zebrova shook her head, and instead, she replied, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

 “Excellent. Report to my office after the meeting – oh, after you’ve kept your appointment with our eager medical officer, anyway – and we’ll go over what I perceive your role to be. Based on your performance thus far, I’m sure you will fit the role nicely.” Looking around the table, he said, “I think that’s everything. Dismissed.”

 He stood bolt upright to attention, and immediately left the room. Bailey stormed out just behind him, the rest of the officers looking at the still-seated Zebrova and Orlova as they left, uncertain what to think or to do. Zebrova remained there, sitting calmly, waiting for the doors to close.

 “Lieutenant,” Orlova said, “I don’t want your job.”

 “Peace, Maggie,” she replied. “I know that it wasn’t your fault, but at least he appointed someone who is capable of doing the job. I’m not sure about Bailey, but I think it would probably have been Nelyubov next.” Shaking her head, she continued, “He’s been not-so-subtly hinting that I should volunteer to stay behind on Hydra Station as liaison.”

 “He can’t make you take that job…”

 “Technically, he can assign me to anything he likes, but…,” she paused, then started again, saying, “He doesn’t react well to opposition. Given that my perception of my job is to offer alternatives to the commanding officer, I think we were always going to clash, and given that he has the rank, he was always going to win.”

 “Captain Marshall…”

 “Would not have done that, though between you and I, my plan had always been to request a transfer at the end of our current cruise. No matter. Maggie, this might have damaged my career, but far more important is that Alamo is in safe hands for the journey home.”

 “I’ll do my best. And I’ll see if I can follow up some of those leads for you, as well. I agree with the Major, but I can’t see any harm in looking at alternatives.”

 “Run a parallel investigation, and do it quietly.” She stopped, smiled, and said, “Not that I am in any position to give you orders, of course.”

 “I’m sorry about this.”

 Zebrova raised a hand, and said, “It isn’t your fault. I’ve got to think of some way of getting that freighter home now with a completely inexperienced crew, but that’s my problem, not yours. I’ll think of something. You’ve got the bigger problem. With Caine out, Mulenga dead and me gone, you’re about the only qualified command officer left, aside from the Major.”

 “I’ll do everything I can to keep him on an even keel.”

 “Just be careful, and see if you can prevent too many of his excesses. With the best will in the world, coming back to command after a decade was always going to be difficult, but I doubt the Captain realized how difficult.” Standing up, she looked down at Orlova, and said, “I suppose I should go over to my new ship. Good luck.”

 As she walked out, Orlova said to herself, “Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”

Chapter Eleven

 Marshall and Cantrell leaned over the sensor station, replaying the events from the instant immediately prior to their jump to hendecaspace once again. There was no doubt; the Dauntless had jumped after them, and was following them.

 “I thought this was impossible,” Marshall said.

 “There’s been some work on this for years, and last I heard, they were making some progress. The limitation is that the ship has to also be in hendecaspace, of course, and that it must be extremely close to get the bearing. Other than that, this is technology we’ll have in ten years.”

 Turning to her, he asked, “I don’t suppose I dare ask how a Spaceman Third – or a Sub-Lieutenant, for that matter – knows more about confidential research projects than I do.”

 “I was assigned to the project for a while, looking for a United Nations mole that wasn’t there.” She paused, then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you who I really was before. Frankly, I wouldn’t have now if Cooper hadn’t worked it out. Sharp guy, I’m thinking of recruiting him.”

 “Hands off.”

 “The fleet doesn’t seem to want him, but Intelligence can certainly use a man of his talents. In any event, my mission was simply to observe, nothing more. If we were captured, I was to escape and find my way back home. I thought that would be a lot easier as an anonymous crewman than as an officer.”

 “And Lieutenant Winter?”

 “Was always intended to leave the ship at Spitfire Station. He had another mission to accomplish, and before you ask, I can’t tell you what it was.”

 “I expected nothing less.” Turning back to the screen, he said, “Now, what do we do about our current problem?”

 “We’re drawing further away from them now, random effects, so I think we’re safe to change course to a different egress point than we had intended. Seems like the obvious thing to do, and we can naturally repeat that for the next system. Of course, there’s a catch.”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “They’ll work out we’re heading for Hydra Station, and we’re going to be leading them right to Alamo.”

 “Under the circumstances, it might be worth trying for a different destination, but we don’t have the fuel. It’s a straight choice, I think. We either push ahead and accept the risk, or turn back and surrender, and I don’t want to try the second option.”

 “Hell no,” Fuller said from the helm. “You’ve got us into this mess, and you have to get us out of it again, even if it means getting your precious Alamo dirty.”

 “Basically, we’ve got two jumps to work out how to beat them, and we will at least be able to give Alamo some warning, even if it is just a few seconds.”

 “We can switch egress points so that we won’t be in the battle.” 

 Glancing around the bridge, Marshall replied, “I want to concentrate on learning everything we can about the Dauntless. Full sensor probes once we get into the system, and I’d like you to go and talk to our guest. He commanded that ship, and…”

 “I wouldn’t trust anything he said, sir, and I haven’t got the equipment to determine the veracity of any of his statements. He has every reason to lie.” She smiled, and said, “You would if the roles were reversed, even if you had decided to change sides.”

 “There is that. Still, you might learn something, but don’t go too hard. He’s supposed to be defecting, and while I don’t know if I trust that…”

 “I don’t.” 

 “...we still have to obey the formalities.”

 “Aye, sir. I’ll try and put a report together.”

 Fuller looked over, and said, “You aren’t thinking about taking us into a battle, are you? We’re a freighter, no armaments, no armor, no fancy countermeasures package or anything like that. We’d last about ten seconds before being shot out of the sky.”

 Turning to the technician, Marshall replied, “And how long would we last if the Cabal captured us? How long before we were shot or sold into slavery?” He glanced at Cantrell, and said, “I’m going down to have a word with Captain Newton. Call if you need me.”

 He turned, floating off the bridge and into the elevator, tapping for the quarters deck. After a moment, it opened up at the engineering level, and Cooper drifted in, nodding at Marshall as the elevator continued its descent. After a second, Marshall tapped a button to hold it in place.

 “I haven’t had a real chance to talk to you since we broke orbit,” he said.

 Raising a hand, Cooper replied, “You don’t need to say anything, sir. You would have done exactly the same for me.”

 “Well, even so, thank you. Thanks for coming after me. I owe you one.”

 “Captain, you led an expedition deep into enemy territory to rescue a dozen of my friends, knowing the risk to your life and your career. I know, I know, they were your crewmen too, but it was my crazy idea. I’m the one who owes you.”

 Marshall released the button, smiled, and said, “Cantrell’s hoping to recruit you to Fleet Intelligence, you know. Have you thought about it?”

 Shrugging, he replied, “I’ve got to do something, I suppose, but I know that it still means lots of paperwork, one way or another. I signed up to see some action, and I’m a soldier, not a secret agent. Say I get sent undercover to do an office job – I’m still doing that job, ninety-nine percent of the time.”

 “I’ll do what I can for you, Cooper. I promise you that.”

 “I know, sir, but aside from a letter of recommendation, I don’t know what there is you can do to help.”

 The door opened, and he pushed out, heading slowly down the corridor while Marshall watched. He was going to go through those Fleet Regulations again, come what may, and find some way to do something for him, something to allow him to continue to do what he was good at.

 Following him down the corridor, he pushed past one door after another until he found the one labeled ‘Newton’; she’d apparently opted not to move to the Captain’s cabin. When the door opened, he saw why. The room was filled with clutter, cupboards and shelves stuffed with items from all across space, bits and pieces of memorabilia, crew suits stashed in odd corners, and Newton herself sitting cross-legged on her bed.

 “Come in, Captain,” she said. “I figured you’d want to see me sooner or later. Excuse the mess.”

 “You should see my office on Alamo after a few months’ cruise.”

 “Don’t you have underlings to tidy up after you?”

 “How would I find anything if they did?” he replied, and they both laughed. He managed to find a handhold on the ceiling and reached up to it, lazily swinging back and forth.

 “I hear we have a bit of a problem. I knew the top capital ships had special equipment, but this is news to me. They must have been keeping it under wraps.”

 “It’s ahead of us as well. We think we can dodge them until we reach Hydra Station, but then we’re going to run into problems. Tell me,” he said. “How tough is this ship? How would she react…”

 “Under combat conditions?” she replied. “She’s fifty years old, but she’s been well-maintained. I doubt we’d take more than a couple of missile hits, but she can move when she has too. It really depends what you want to do, though I’d really rather not try and go toe-to-toe with a capital ship.”

 “Neither would I. What about this refueling installation we’re heading for?”

 “Guild supply depot. We’ve got three of them in that system, all of them buried. I suppose we’re not going to go to the easiest one now; I’ll work out a course plot to take us to another one. Doesn’t really matter, just more work for the crew.”

 “We’ll lend a hand.”

 “Of course you will. You aren’t paying enough that I don’t want you to work your passage.” She smiled, then said, “Don’t worry, I won’t work you quite to death.”

 “Why are they hidden anyway?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Because if we didn’t, then the Fleet would steal – sorry, commandeer – them rather than pay their fuel bills, and they certainly wouldn’t compensate us for them. Worse, odds are they wouldn’t tell anyone they’d taken them, and someone would end up stranded.”

 “The Fleet just steals from civilian depots?”

 “The Fleet runs the Cabal. First and last, they are in charge. This is just yet another way that they make that quite clear, no matter what anyone else might say. That’s why some of us formed the Guild in the first place.”

 “Which is? Are you against the government?”

 “Not really. We’re more of a trade union for free traders, but it basically boils down that we look after each other and provide rescue and support where needed, arrange bulk trading deals, warehousing, lobbying, that sort of thing. We’re fairly new, and our lords and masters don’t like us very much, but there isn’t anything they can do about it.”

 “Sounds nicely subversive. I approve.”

 “I thought you might,” she said. “Though we aren’t part of the resistance, or even work with them.” Seeing the look on his face, she continued, “I gather you’ve encountered some of them.”

 “I’ve had run-ins with them, yes.”

 “There was a big purge about fifteen years ago, and I think they are still rather gun-shy about it. My uncle was one of those rounded up, and it isn’t entirely coincidence that it was about then that I started work up here.”

 “You’ve been on this ship for fifteen years?”

 “Signed up at sixteen, all starry-eyed and raring to see the galaxy.” She gestured around the shelves, and said, “I’ve probably been around most of Cabal space, even out to Spitfire Station once. I actually thought about jumping ship there, that was the only time. Wanted to see Sol.”

 “When was that?”

 “About ten years ago, I think. Your big war had just come to an end, I remember that much. The last decent Captain we had talked me out of it, pushed me up to First Mate around that time, and I never looked back.” She glanced around the room, and said, “I always wanted to command this ship, but I never thought I’d actually get to do it. No chance that I’d ever get a stake big enough to buy it.”

 “Wait long enough, good things can happen. I felt the same way when I took command of Alamo.”

 “How long ago?”

 “Three years, almost. When we formed the combined Triplanetary Fleet. Crazy time. Twenty-four hours after I reported on board, we were already on our way to our first mission. I’ve been spending most of my time putting out one fire or another ever since.”

 “Culminating in getting yourself stuck all the way out here. I must say, I was surprised at how much of a say Corporal Cooper seemed to have. Unless I got my ranks wrong.”

 “He had a good idea, and I was hardly going to contradict him while there were all those guns around. Not that I won’t go ahead with it, it actually solves another problem we were going to have to deal with.”

 Nodding, she replied, “I’ve been out to Hydra a few times. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

 “Well, nowhere is about to get a lot more important, I think. One of my other officers bought it for the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 She laughed, and said, “Your junior officers seem to get up to rather a lot while you aren’t looking, don’t they!”

 “Hell, it gives us a jump right into the middle of your – Cabal – territory. With a way of supplying it that doesn’t require us to go through our lines, but on the other hand, we’d have to arrange a shipping contract.”

 “Which you just gave to us,” she said, nodding. “That makes sense. You’re likely to make me a very rich woman, Captain.”

 “Oh? And call me Danny, for heaven’s sake. We’ll be drowning in ranks otherwise.”

 “Two transport ships and a military contract to supply an expanding military base and presumably a fleet? Even with your people taking combat-critical stuff, we’ll clean up on personal shipping alone.”

 “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, rubbing his chin. “No wonder you accepted so quickly.”

 “Offer of a lifetime,” she said. “Two ships, one for Tarrant and I – which solved a rather knotty problem that would otherwise have cropped up – and the chance to do a bit of trade pioneering. The trouble with our little company at the moment is that we’ve had far too many owners. Eight in twenty years, and each one had a brand new get-rich-quick scheme. I didn’t mind the chance to see new worlds, but this business works best on steady, reliable lines. Most of the time, anyway, I don’t mind a bit of trade pioneering.”

 “I’ve been wanting to do some real exploration myself. We were hoping...but we only managed a single, short cruise a couple of years ago, and we ended up going straight into the Cabal.”

 “Strange new worlds, eh, Danny? That why you joined up?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “We were seven years into the war when I turned seventeen, old enough to enlist. A year in Flight School, and then I went straight to the front. I fought my first dogfight three days after reporting to my duty station.”

 “Old fighter jock, then.”

 “I’m afraid so. They cut the training down to six months just after I graduated. We were losing pilots faster than we could get them into the fight.” He seemed to be looking through the wall, at somewhere else, as he continued, “I was a raw as they came, I thought I knew it all. Didn’t take me long to realize I didn’t. After four months, there were only two survivors out of my squadron. Just two.”

 “It must have been terrible.”

 “Wars usually are. By the end of it I was a twenty-two year-old Acting Major, pretending to command a Group. I’ve got midshipmen that age on Alamo right now.” He looked over at her again, and said, “That’s why I joined up. To defend my planet, my nation. I stayed on afterward because, well, I didn’t really have anything else. I didn’t have any family left, and all I knew was the service.”

 “I’m sorry,” she said. “They really put you through the mill, didn’t they.”

 “It was worth it,” he replied. “That’s the one thing I can hold on to. All my friends, my shipmates, all the ones who didn’t make it back, they died for something. We won our freedom, our independence. The other reason I stayed in. I’d like to get to some real exploration, but I suppose that’s just the little kid inside me who watched too many movies.”

 “I know what you mean,” she replied. “Joining the Fleet was never an option for me, not with my background, but I’d love to head out there one day, see what’s beyond the frontiers. The Cabal hasn’t launched any expeditions in forty years. No resources, they claim, too much needed at home. They’re just getting ready to start a war with someone.”

 “Probably us. You know that, right.”

 “Hell, I’ve seen everything there is to see in the Cabal anyway. I might as well see some new places for a change. Besides, your reputation precedes you. I heard about what you did to that Cabal task force. No way they could keep that secret. I’d bet on the Confederation in a war.”

 “I wish I was as sanguine.” He shook his head, and said, “We’ve fought enough battles that it’s still a war, and there are a lot of people back home who would go to war with the Cabal tomorrow once they find out about the Neander, the indents…”

 “There are others, as well. The Skylari, the Milandro.”

 “Alien races?” he said, his eyes widening. “We heard rumors, but…”

 “Found at the turn of the century, and confined to their homeworlds. The Skylari were just getting a start at a space program, but that couldn’t be permitted. We do a little trading for artifacts, but nothing more than that. We just don’t have enough in common, I suppose.”

 “And they sit on their planets, looking up at the stars, wearing out their hearts, and something special vanishes from their souls forever. Maybe we should go to war, no matter what the cost.”

 “You’re a poet, Danny,” she replied.

 “I just remember a small boy looking up at the stars and wondering what it would be like to go there, that’s all. I’d have ended up in space one way or another, I know that much.”

 “I was the same, back on Golgotha.”

 “Lovely name.”

 “The planet definitely lives up to it. But it has clear skies, and that was all I needed back then. My imagination could do the rest. That and the stories my grandparents told of the flight out from Earth, all the things they saw.” She paused, then said, “Of course, I know now that they made most of it up to keep me quiet, but I still want to find the planet with the ice cream tree.”

 Marshall laughed, then said, “So we’re both condemned to wander the spaceways forever, following the whims of our inner ten-year-olds, looking for the strange and the new.”

 “Something like that,” she said, laughing. “I’m always the first one down whenever we see something knew, I know that much. I guess I’m just a born tourist.”

 “That’s probably true of anyone who sees this life as more than just a job.”

 “True,” she replied. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Fancy snatching a bite of lunch? I’ve got a couple of ration packs lying around somewhere, though finding them could be an expedition into strange new places in its own right.”

 “As long as someone sends out a search party if we go missing,” he replied with a smile, “I haven’t got anything else to do this afternoon.”

Chapter Twelve

 Orlova walked into the Science Lab, on a frustrated Carpenter trying to clear up one of the few images she’d managed to take before the attack. She waved her down to a chair while she worked controls, shaking her head.

 “It was just too damn dark to get much,” she said. “Damned vandals. That body had been there for thousands of years, I know it. It could have told us so much.”

 “Another Neander corpse, Susan? I know, I know, but we’ve found plenty of them on Earth, haven’t we? It isn’t as though you haven’t got some living specimens to look at if you want to do your research.”

 “I’m not sure what it was,” she replied, pointing at the screen. “The skull doesn’t look quite right, and there are some...I don’t know. There isn’t enough to the image to properly determine anything. All I have are guesswork and theories, and precious little of those.”

 “What about the writing.”

 Sighing, she said, “We don’t have the software and I don’t have the skill. It’s like, well, proto-proto-Indo-European, and damn garbled at that. It’s like knowing Hindu and trying to use that to read Sanskrit. The computer’s having a real try at it, but it isn’t getting very far. We’re going to have to wait until we get home, and even then...it could take months. Years.”

 Leaning back, Orlova said, “You must be able to make some of it out, though?”

 “Not enough to make any sense of it. That’s the frustrating part. Just a few words come through the translation, just enough to give me a hint, but nothing more. The dating is interesting, though.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Well, the computer was able to give me an estimate of linguistic drift, and it points to around 10,000 BC. Which is a lot later than the figures we had for the last contact with Earth. Of course, the computer could be wrong. This is all guesswork. The earliest writing we found dates back from about 6,000 BC, found during the Tigris Reclamation Project. Of course, that was right before the war, so the UN never gave us all the data, and...” She looked at Orlova, smiled, and continued, “Why am I bothering you with all of this? You’ve got problems enough of your own.”

 “Don’t worry about it. From what I’ve seen so far, my primary job is to listen to people complaining, whilst not being able to do very much about it. I’ve been running training sessions all day, and having some time off from that is nice enough.”

 “If there is anything I can do to help…”

 “Actually, that’s why I’m here. The Major’s focusing all our efforts on investigating the station, not the surface, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I want to take a look at what is going on down there.”

 “Order a scan.”

 “I can’t. Not safely, anyway. Why do you think I’ve got this job rather than Zebrova.”

 “You’re kidding.” She shook her head, then said, “We’re going to have a fun ride home with him in charge, Maggie. Can’t you take command? I trust you.”

 Her face growing stern, Orlova said, “I really hope that you just made a rather poor attempt at humor. You are talking about the commanding officer of this ship.”

 “Sorry. What is it you want me to do, then?”

 “It occurred to me that you might want to investigate any other possible archaeological sites on the surface, and that you might consider asking me for permission to undertake such an investigation.”

 “Really? You think I could get access to the sensors for a sweep like that?”

 “You’ve got friends in high places, remember. Put it in, and I’ll give approval, and if anyone asks, we’re covered. Of course, while you are looking for potential dig sites, who knows what else you might stumble across.”

 “You’ll have my request in writing in an hour.”

 “Good, I’ll approve it when I get back,” she said, standing up. “I’ve got to head over to the station, sort out some equipment requisitions.”

 “Have fun!” Carpenter said with a smile.

 “Not much chance of that,” Orlova replied as she left, making her way down the corridor to the elevator. She hadn’t realized before just how much administrative work she was meant to keep up with, especially during the refit, how many tedious jobs that were her responsibility, many of them seemingly make-work. Such as this job, inspecting equipment requisition forms. The computer could have handled it quite easily, but when she had tried to just click through it, a requirement that she conduct it in person had appeared. Then the door opened, and Caine walked in, glaring at her.

 “Enjoying your promotion?” she asked with a sneer.

 “Not much. You’re welcome to it if you want it.”

 “I don’t care what the Major thinks or what you have said to him. I still think that you were a coward, and that you chose the easy way out, and I mean to make sure that the proper authorities deal with you appropriately.”

 She turned to her, face flushing red, and said, “I’m sure that’s what Captain Marshall would have wanted. For you to waste the rest of your life on a personal vendetta against me.”

 “Don’t you…”

 Orlova jammed the hold button and said, “Like it or not, I’m the second-in-command of this boat, and that means that when I talk, you have to listen. Don’t you think for a moment that I would have given my life in trade for his? Don’t you know that? He was my friend as well, and I owed everything to him.”

 “All the more reason…”

 “I couldn’t go back. It wasn’t about me. If it had just been me on board, I’d have gone back without thinking twice, but when you are in command, you have the lives of others in your hands, and you cannot just throw them away because of your own personal whims or ideas. That isn’t your call to make. If I’d turned, thirty people would have been captured or killed, and two people would have thrown their lives away for nothing.”

 She took a deep breath, and continued, “The easy option would have been to go back. To try some sort of mad heroic rescue, but that would not have been the right thing to do. It isn’t what he would have wanted me to do. And if I’d been on that station, I’d have screamed at you all to get away, to get home. What would you have done? Screamed for help?”

 “No,” Caine said, quietly.

 “Do you really think that little of Captain Marshall, that you think he would have wanted us all to sacrifice our lives for him? That doesn’t do much justice to his memory, does it?”

 She released the button, and the doors slid open, Caine stepping out, shaking her head. Orlova wasn’t sure that she had got through to her, but was not unaware that she was actually talking to herself, more than to Caine. She wasn’t quite sure that she believed herself, anyway. When the elevator opened up at the hangar deck, she was still lost in thought as the deck chief walked up to her.

 “Shuttle Two’s ready to go, ma’am,” he said. “Want a pilot?” 

 “No, I’ll take her myself.”

 “I thought you’d say that. Course is already plotted and you’ve got launch and docking clearance, pre-approved.”

 “Thanks, Chief.”

 Walking over to her shuttle, she swung into the cockpit and settled down into the pilot’s couch. This was far more to her taste, one little ship, with no responsibility to anyone other than herself, just heading out into the void to have fun. There were a moments when she longed for her past, but despite everything, they were getting fewer and fewer. The time before she wore the uniform was beginning to seem distant, almost a dream.

 The deck technicians had already completed pre-flight, and she activated the launch sequence almost absentmindedly, letting the automatic systems do all the work. Her datapad pinged with a series of status updates, and she quickly muted the volume; she wanted some time to herself, even if was just a few minutes of peace.

 Settling back to enjoy the ride, she watched the rotating station slowly grow in the screen as the shuttle cruised towards it, occasionally glancing down at the status boards to make sure everything was still working. On a trip as easy as this one, a pilot wasn’t really necessary anyway, the computer able to handle the work.

 After too brief a time, the shuttle closed in on the station, and moved up to lock with the docking clamps. She waited for the familiar clang, ready to head on board, but nothing happened; the shuttle just pushed away from the hull. A part of her was almost glad, and she reached down to try again, manually, with the same result. There was no sign of malfunction on board; the defect had to be on the station.

 She flicked a switch on the console, saying, “Shuttle Two to Hydra Station Control.” After a moment with no response, she tried again, “Shuttle Two to Hydra Station Control. Come in please. Shuttle Two to Alamo. Any station.”

 The status board still showed no malfunction, and she felt like giving it a sharp blow to express her frustration. Turning the ship on the thrusters, she tapped the main engines to head back to Alamo, but predictably, nothing happened. Reaching down to her datapad, she saw that she was out of signal range. Someone was jamming her signals, probably the same person who had played tricks with the sensors earlier.

 Eventually, someone would spot that there was a problem and come and get her, but there didn’t seem any reason to wait that long. Heading over to the rear compartment, she pulled a spacesuit out of the locker at random, checking to make sure all the systems were functioning before putting it on. The only thing that wasn’t working was the communicator, but that didn’t surprise her – hopefully it would start functioning again as soon as she was clear of the jamming field.

 Walking over to the airlock, she gently tapped the control, half-expecting that to be out of order as well, but the inner door slid open and she stepped through, letting it gently depressurize before stepping out into space. Her first step was to the docking port, still only a few meters away, and she tapped the manual override, the hatch slowly sliding open. She turned to the shuttle, taking a quick visual inspection. Nothing seemed to be wrong, which confirmed her suspicions. She tried her communicator again, but there was still no reply.

 She turned back, operating the lock, and the inner hatch slid open. There should have been some sort of alert from her unauthorized entry, some response from security, but no-one was there, and the corridor was dark. Taking her suit off as quickly as she could, she hung it in the storage compartment and headed for the elevator, until she heard a sound from behind her, a footstep.

 On instinct, she turned around, diving behind a storage rack, as a crack flew through the air where her head had been a moment before. She peered down the corridor, and saw a figure hiding in cover, a pistol casting a long shadow on the wall. Reaching for her communicator, she saw what she had expected – that it still wasn’t working. Likely she had found the source of her recent trouble.

 Another crack, and she eased herself further down into cover, looking for something to use as a weapon. The rack held heavy tools, and she picked up a wrench, the weight comforting in her hands, but her unseen assailant was staying well out of reach. On the other hand, for all she knew there might be reinforcements on the way, from one side or another. She looked up at the door sensor, temptingly close, then reached for the lightest object she could find.

 As she started to take some deep breaths, tensing herself up, another crack flew over her head, someone trying to keep her pinned down. She hurled the lighter tool behind her, activating the door sensor and opening the doors, and taking advantage of what she hoped was a distraction, raced forward out of cover, weaving from side to side, the wrench high in her hand.

 Two cracks passed dangerously close, but she collided with her would-be assassin, striking him quickly over the head with the wrench and forcing the pistol out of his hands. Cabal-make, just as she had expected. She looked down, and saw to her surprise that it was a Neander, not a human, albeit wearing a station jumpsuit. He looked vaguely familiar, one of the freed slaves from the Dumont now working with the local maintenance gangs. There was a datapad in his pocket, running a series of encryption algorithms, and as soon as she turned it off, her communicator began to chirp urgently.

 “Come in, Lieutenant,” the Major’s voice said. “Reply at once!”

 “Orlova here, sir. I’ve been attacked, lower docking level on the station, airlock nine.” With a loud clang, her shuttle docked, at last able to complete her program.

 “Are you injured?”

 “No, but my attacker is a different story. I need a medical and security team here on the double. Neander casualty.”

 “Neander? We’re on our way.”

 She gave the figure a quick examination, checking to make sure he wasn’t too badly wounded. His head wound was oozing blood, but his vital signs were stable enough, and his breathing seemed strong and steady. The door opened, and half a dozen people raced towards her, led by the Major; two security guards taking position to cover the scene while the medical team knelt down to begin their task.

 “Good work, Maggie,” the Major said. “Are you sure that you are alright?”

 “I’m fine, just a little disconcerted.”

 “Looks like we’ve traced our target, but I hadn’t expected a Neander. One of the locals?”

 “No,” she said, shaking her head, “From the Dumont. Not the first time we’ve seen them working with the Cabal. I’m pretty sure he was waiting for backup.”

 “We’ll have scared them off by now with all this firepower, I suspect. What were you doing here anyway?”

 “Computer-flagged regulations; I needed to check some equipment inventory.”

 “What inventory? I thought all our spares were on Alamo already.”

 Orlova pulled out her datapad, looked at her paperwork backlog, and shook her head, replying, “Suddenly it appears to have disappeared. Which means that someone has managed to get into my scheduling software. Dammit.” She looked up, and continued, “It’s a low-priority system.”

 “Someone is definitely targeting key personnel.”

 With a sigh, she said, “Or just me. Mulenga and Ferguson might have been incidental.”

 “Nevertheless, I’m not going to let this go. If he did have helpers, they might strike again.” The elevator door opened, and Lester Price, the Station Commander, walked out, heading directly for Orlova before stopping to look at the scene on the floor, the medical crew fighting a battle to stabilize the wounded Neander.

 “What happened?”

 “He jumped me. I had to improvise,” she replied. “One of your crew?”

 “Yes, I hired him last month from the Dumont technicians.” He looked at the Major, and said, “You don’t think I have anything to do with this, do you?”

 Glancing at Orlova, the Major replied, “You wore the wrong uniform for me to trust you unconditionally, Mr. Price. Based on this incident, I have no alternative but to issue a declaration of martial law. Lieutenant Bailey will assume duties as Military Governor for the duration of the emergency, and we will take steps, I assure you, to deal with all of his associates and root out the traitors.”

 Price’s eyes widened, his face reddened, and he replied, “That’s outrageous! After everything I did, everything I risked, you still think I might be an agent? I could have betrayed you a dozen times over to far more profit.”

 “Sir,” Orlova said, “I do think that Mr. Price has proven his loyalty…”

 “He’s a friend, Maggie, and I know that you can’t be objective. Nevertheless, I think you are probably right.”

 “Probably?” Price exploded.

 “We haven’t much time to purge this station, less than a fortnight. I want to leave behind a facility that will still be under our control when we get back with reinforcements from home, and if that means going through the station one compartment at a time, we’ll do it. Is that clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” Orlova said, while Price just glared.

 “Have that person,” he said, gesturing at the Neander, “taken back to Alamo…” 

 “Our medical teams are more experienced with Neander,” Price said.

 Ignoring him, the Major continued, “...and placed under close supervision. I want an Espatier with him at all times; his associates might try to rescue or kill him. We have some questions for him when he wakes up.” Looking at Orlova again, he said, “Get yourself checked over by Duquesne, as well, just to reassure an old man’s worries”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Good,” he said, striding towards the elevator. “Carry on.”

 The door slammed shut, and Price turned to her, saying, “He can’t do that. He doesn’t have the authority.”

 “Technically, he does, but usually martial law is only issued when all civilian authority has broken down. A last resort.”

 “It hasn’t. Can’t you do something about this?”

 “I’m just a Lieutenant…”

 Walking away, he said, “Fine. You carry on just following orders.”

Chapter Thirteen

 All eyes were on the sensor station as the Brunel eased her way out of hendecaspace, the enemy battlecruiser close behind her. A countdown appeared on the viewscreen, ticking down the estimated time of arrival of the Dauntless; the new system was last on anyone’s minds. Cooper lingered at the back of the bridge, anxiously watching what was happening. There wasn’t anything he could do now except wait and see what happened next.

 “Jump successful,” Marshall said from the helm. “We’re close in on the fourth planet, just as advertised.”

 Romaine, hovering at the back, said, “They’d be out of hendecaspace by now if they were coming. I guess they aren’t following us after all.”

 “Didn’t anyone ever teach you about the speed of light?” Cantrell said from the sensor station. “We decoyed them out to the second planet, twenty million miles away. Besides, dimensional travel can be pretty rough. There can be temporal variations.”

 “Our drives are obviously better than yours,” he replied.

 “That’s enough,” Newton said. “Take us into orbit, Danny. Standard path, normal acceleration, let’s take it easy.”

 “I still don’t see why he’s at the helm,” Romaine said.

 “Because he’s a better pilot than you are,” Cantrell said, bluntly. “We’re getting a full picture of the system now. No changes from our last visit here, nothing to report at all. No sign of the Dauntless, but we’re still seventy seconds away.”

 The planet appeared on the viewscreen, and Cooper shook his head. A cold, white ball of ice, punctuated with deep cracks and gouges. No trace of atmosphere, no sign of any sort of life at all. Just another dead world whose only purpose was as a place to hide. The Brunel closed on the planet, Marshall keeping the acceleration steady.

 “Threat warning!” Cantrell said, and everyone on the bridge turned to look at her. “Dimensional instability, near the second planet. Capital ship emerging.” She looked up, and said, “It’s the Dauntless. Right on schedule.”

 “Any signal from them?” Newton asked.

 “Nothing,” Fuller replied. “It’s as if they haven’t noticed us.”

 “They just don’t have anything to say. Are they changing course, Cantrell?” 

 “No. Looks like they’re just maintaining station at the hendecaspace point. My guess is that they are waiting for us to jump again.” The door opened, and the Commandant entered, looking up at the viewscreen. “I don’t know what their fuel capability is.”

 “More than enough to get where they need to go,” the Commandant replied. “We won’t get past them that way. My compliments, though, on giving them the slip for this jump.”

 Newton looked at him for a moment, then turned to Fuller, “I want all communications systems on lockdown. No electronic chatter at all, of any sort. Is that clear?”

 “We’re going to need to talk to the surface…”

 “Any signal at all. We’ll just have to do everything the hard way. Unless it is a real and clear emergency, there is to be no use of communications systems while we’re in the same system as the Dauntless.”

 “Don’t you trust us?” Romaine said, glancing at the Commandant.

 “Better to be safe than dead,” she replied. “There’s no reason to delay until we’re actually in orbit. Cooper, do you want to take a team down to the surface to check on the depot? Tarrant and Singh can go with you.”

 “I’ll head down as well,” Cantrell said. “I’d like to stretch my legs.”

 “Fine. Just make sure that all the systems are intact, run a quick inventory, and I’ll send the fueling shuttle down for its first load in three hours. Might as well get the life support systems fired up. No reason not to do this in shirtsleeves.”

 Cooper nodded, and said, “I’m on my way.” He drifted away down the corridor, Cantrell behind him, swinging down a convenient shaft to the docking level, while the ship’s loudspeakers summoned the others to report immediately for landing party duty.

 “Why do you want to come along?” he asked, pushing himself off a handhold.

 “Nothing else to do,” she replied, “and my mission is to gather intelligence. I want to take a look at their concealment procedures. Never know when that’s going to come in useful.”

 Tarrant and Singh were already waiting at the shuttle when they arrived, and the former pushed off into the cockpit, settling down while his passengers hastily strapped themselves down.

 “Ready for launch,” he yelled, and the shuttle detached from the ship, dropping down towards the planet as the main engine slowed them down. Cooper had managed to take a window seat, and watched the ship slowly spiral down towards the planet; it was a lot rougher than it had appeared from orbit, tall mountain ranges of ice reaching up to the sky, boulder fields and deep fissures hundreds of meters deep. There were a few darker patches of rock scattered around, almost at random.

 Diving towards a huge crater, Cooper only saw their destination when they were almost on top of it, a small patch of what appeared from orbit to be one of several tumbling rocks, but was subtly different from the others. Looking slightly to the north, something else seemed wrong, as well, another of the rocks that looked more regular, almost rectangular.

 “Which one of those are we going to?”

 “The southern one. The other’s just an old crashed ship, I think it’s a marker,” Tarrant said. “This depot’s been here for decades, old emergency rescue spot that the Guild took over. There isn’t usually much traffic here.”

 Steam rose from the surface as the thrusters gently lowered the shuttle to the ground, and the three of them started to pull on their spacesuits, Cooper briefly struggling with the unfamiliar design, a lot more rugged – and heavier – than he was used to. All the systems lights lit green as he stepped into the airlock, Singh standing next to him, and ran through the exit cycle.

 His boots crunched into the ice, small pools freezing over as he watched in the intense cold, only briefly warmed by the shuttle. Now that he was on the ground, the depot was obvious – a pair of standard prefabricated huts with a half-buried tank of fuel between them, covered by a half-kilometer reflector, crumpled and torn to make it look like the surrounding rocks.

 Singh pointed to the hut on the left, and the two of them slowly ambled over to it, struggling in the lower gravity not to send themselves flying away, Cantrell and Tarrant following. At one point, he got a chance to take a look at the crash site to the north, and threw up an image intensification filter to get a better look at it. Something about it seemed strange, like nothing he had ever seen before, the design unfamiliar. Thus far, all of the Cabal designs had resembled those he knew in at least some details, the common technical ancestry making itself known, but this was different.

 Singh stepped up to a hidden hatch, tapped a ten-digit code sequence which he carefully hid from Cooper, and the door opened, the two of them walking in. Stepping through the airlock, the room inside looked as if the occupants had just stepped out for a moment, a pair of unmade beds in one corner of the room, a deck of cards on the table, equipment scattered all over the place, but in a logical sort of chaos brought about by constant use.

 Walking over to a control panel in the corner, Singh started to work, and the lights on Cooper’s suit started to flash green; he cracked open the seal of his helmet, took an experimental sniff, and then wished he hadn’t. There was a rancid smell, of decay and death, but Singh was busy taking off his suit.

 “I know, I’ll flush out the system as soon as I find it. The last occupants must have left some food to go bad before the temperature dropped. Better get rid of it before it contaminates everything.”

 “Aside from that?”

 “All the base systems are functioning, but I’ll have to go out in a minute to check the pumps with Tarrant before the fueling shuttle goes down. We need an inventory of the storage compartment, as well, I know we’ve got a bit of a list to fill if we can.”

 The door opened again, and Tarrant walked in, followed by Cantrell. He shook his head, and said, “Nothing like a breath of fresh air, I guess. No point getting changed; Harpreet, you stay in here and monitor the systems while I check the fuel manifolds.”

 “Great, I get the smell.”

 “Privilege of rank. And speaking of rank, where are the food stores? I might as well dump the lot while I’m outside. I don’t think we need to take a chance on it.”

 “While you are doing that, I want to go and check out that wreck to the north of here. It’s only a mile away; by the time I get there and back, you should have all the checks completed and I can help with the inventory,” Cooper said.

 “What for? It’s just a piece of old junk.”

 “It doesn’t look as if anyone else has ever taken a look at it.”

 “Why would they? Look, we’ve got a lot to do here,” Tarrant said.

 “Besides,” Singh added, “You shouldn’t go off my yourself, certainly not that distance. Not safe. There are fissures and cracks out here; it isn’t just a question of going for a walk. You have to watch your step very closely.”

 Nodding, Tarrant said, “The last time we were here we almost lost someone in one of the crevasses. Their life support was damn near gone by the time we were able to get them out again.”

 “I promise to be very careful.”

 “I’ll go with him,” Cantrell said.

 “Great, that’s two of you wandering off into the middle of nowhere,” Tarrant said, shaking his head. “Fine, go off and have your walk, but try not to get into any sort of a scrape while you are wasting your time.”

 “What do you expect to find?” Singh asked.

 “I don’t know,” Cooper replied, “and if I don’t go and take a look, I never will. Come on,” he said, turning to Cantrell, “let’s go.”

 Placing their helmets back on, the two of them stepped through the airlock and back out onto the surface, walking around the hidden base and towards the rocks to the north; their target seemed to be glinting in the dull sun, coated by a thin layer of ice. Cantrell pulled a cord from the side of her suit, plugging it into Cooper’s; now they could talk with no danger of being overheard.

 “What are we doing out here?” she asked.

 “As I said, I want to see what is out there. I’m guessing that everyone who has come here must have been in such a hurry to get going that they just left it, but I think that it is older than it looks.”

 “Someone must have looked at it before, though.”

 “That doesn’t mean that anyone has shared what they found. This is a secret installation, remember, and no-one using it would want to draw any attention to the place. The last thing they would do is highlight something like an ancient spaceship.”

 “You think it might be that old?”

 “I hung around with Carpenter for long enough to know when something looks older than it should be. I don’t think that can be of human design, certainly. Look at it.”

 “I’m not an expert in starship design.”

 With a chuckle, he said, “You should have joined the Espatiers. There was a month-long course on the history of spaceships, focusing on just that. We even toured a couple of ships under construction.”

 “What was that for?”

 “All ships, no matter who builds them, have a logical pattern to them, right? They’ve all got to have engines, control rooms, life support systems. There’s an optimum pattern, and after a while, you can work out where key facilities should be, even in a ship you’ve never been on before. There was this Corporal, and he boasted that he could find his way around an unfamiliar ship in the dark. He did, too.”

 As they drew closer to the ship, she said, “I guess you’re going to turn down my offer.”

 “Intelligence isn’t really what I’m good at.”

 “Don’t underrate yourself.”

 He shook his head, saying, “Right now, I’m doing what I want to do. I know that it’s going to end when I get back, but I figure I’ll get a contract security job with someone.”

 “And sit around guarding an office all day, or instructing desk jockeys in self-defense? That’s no more what you want to do than anything else. At least my way you still get to wear a uniform.”

 “Captain Marshall used the same logic when he tried to get me to transfer to the Fleet. I didn’t buy that, either.” He sighed, then said, “Maybe I can at least stay in the Reserves, if nothing else, or perhaps in the planetary militia.”

 “It’s a waste, Cooper. And a stupid rule.”

 “There we agree. Look at that.” He pointed at a strange, curved structure that seemed to be reaching down into the ice. The ship seemed to have been designed with some sort of logic, but most of it escaped him. All of it was boxy, compact, much smaller than any starship he was familiar with. Spending a long cruise cooped up in something with that little space would be a nightmare.

 There was a long gash near the front, a huge, jagged rock leaping up from the ice like a broken tooth the probable culprit, and headed for it, Cooper taking point and peering in. Suddenly, irrationally, he wished that there was a pistol at his belt; there was no sign that anything was still alive here that could represent any sort of a threat, but that didn’t stop him being nervous as hell.

 He shone his torch up, inside what was obviously an airlock; and looked for any controls, but all he saw were glass panels, mostly shattered, probably once touchscreens. Stepping inside, being careful not to touch or disturb anything, he looked at the inner hatch, already open, but not enough to get through.

 “Looks like this is as far as we go,” Cantrell said.

 “No, wait a moment,” he said, pushing his hands in between the door. It moved easily, sliding open to their mutual amazement; that the mechanism could have survived for that long under such conditions indicated astonishing workmanship and design. Inside was a corridor, and on one wall a huge mural, blues and greens and whites, showed a spectacular view of the Earth from orbit.

 “There was a real artist here,” he said, turning to his companion. “I’d have liked to meet him.”

 “It’s wrong, though,” she said.

 “What do you mean?”

 “I’ve been to Earth. Earth orbit, anyway. The outlines of the continents are wrong, and the ice cap is much too big.”

 “Artistic license, maybe. Or he was drawing from memory, didn’t have any images to use as a basis. It’s still wonderful.”

 Stepping forward, Cantrell said, “I want to get some proper pictures of this, just in case. We’ll never get this ship out of here. Wait a moment, will you.”

 “Sure,” he said, turning to the far wall. His mouth opened, and he said, “Writing! All over the walls!” He moved to look at it more closely, a strange pattern of lines and dots scattered almost at random, every possible space filled with the unreadable text. Holding up his datapad, he started to take images, covering his wall while Cantrell took the other.

 “This has to have been here a long time,” he said.

 “I’ll say it does,” she replied. “The datapad managed to match the image. He was drawing from something, right enough – that’s Earth around the end of the last ice age, maybe ten thousand years ago and more.”

 “Ten thousand years,” he said. “We’ve got to report this when we get back. Get a proper research team out here.”

 “I hate to remind you, but we’re in the middle of Cabal territory with an enemy battlecruiser watching our backs.” She looked around, and sighed, “This is going to have to be an archaeological snatch and grab, whether we like it or not.”

 “Don’t think so short term,” Cooper replied. “This ship has been here for a long time, and it’ll wait a few decades more to give up the rest of its secrets. I bet Quinn would love to take a look at the drive unit.”

 “By now it’ll just be a fused mass.”

 “Even he’d never get it to work, but he might be able to find out how it worked.”

 “Have you got the writing down?” Cantrell said.

 “Yes. We’d better head back. I don’t want to do any damage here unintentionally, ruin it for the experts. I just hope that I get to come with them some day.”

 Looking around, she replied, “I have a feeling you’ll find a way.”

 As Cooper turned to go, his helmet light shone into a previously untouched corner, far up at the top of the corridor, and a glint of white reflected back. He turned again, then took Cantrell by the shoulder, stopping her from leaving.

 “I told you I wanted to meet the artist,” he said. “I think we’re going to get that chance.”

 A skeleton lay at the far end of the hall, lying in comfortable repose on the corridor. Whoever it was had time to prepare himself, to draw these pictures and write down his story for anyone who might happen by, then to end quietly, in his own time. There was no desperation in his posture, just simple resignation and acceptance. Then Cooper frowned, and turned back to Cantrell.

 “We’d better get some more pictures. And are you sure of that dating?”

 “I think so. Why?”

 “I had a chance to get a good long look at a Neander skeleton, and that isn’t one of them. It’s human, Homo Sapiens Sapiens. One of us.”

 “Ten thousand years…”

Chapter Fourteen

 Orlova walked into Hydra Station Operations, passing the two Espatiers standing on guard at the door, who saluted her as she entered. Inside, the room was a hive of activity, technicians moving from station to station, the majority of them now wearing Triplanetary uniforms, though a few were hold-overs from the period before martial law.

 Over in a corner, Major Marshall and Lieutenant Bailey were standing in front of a schematic of the station, having a heated debate about the positioning of their few remaining Espatiers; she decided to wait for them to finish, pulling out her datapad. Carpenter had just sent her a new update on her sensor sweep of the planet. Five days, and she still hadn’t found anything interesting, even with one of the security technicians personally monitoring the data feed. She found it hard to believe that there was only one old ruin on the entire planet; by the end of the day, the sweep would have been completed, another window of investigation closed.

 There were noises of commotion at the door, and she saw Price, the nominal station commander, being prevented from entering the room by the embarrassed Espatiers. He looked to be building up a good head of steam as she stepped forward.

 “Let him in, Private,” she said.

 “I’d like to, ma’am, but I’ve got orders…”

 “I’ll accept the responsibility. Just let him in.”

 Pausing for a second, he nodded, and the two of them took a step back, allowing him to enter. Price shook his head at the occupants of the room, grimacing as he saw one of the Alamo technicians mangling a diagnostic check at the communications system.

 “This is wrong, Maggie,” he said, quietly. “And stupid, to boot. I’d understand posting some extra guards around, but bringing your own team in to run the damn station? I’d be happier if they knew what they were doing.”

 Frowning, she replied, “They’re good people.”

 “I’m sure they are when they are working on their own ship with their own equipment, but this is my station. I’m just leasing it to you, remember.” Gesturing back, he continued, “And now those two goons won’t even let me into my own control room.”

 “The agreement didn’t require us to leave you in command of the station,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, this is only temporary. Until we’ve caught the Cabal traitors.”

 “Of course it is. Your glorious Major isn’t planning to leave a garrison behind, not at all.”

 “I damn well hope not. We haven’t got the manpower for this operation, never mind leaving twenty or so behind as a prize crew.” She took a deep breath, and said, “You have to be prepared for the possibility that the Admiralty will send a new station commander and a staff, though.”

 “Damn it, this is a civilian station. I only gave it to you because I needed to defend my people, and I figured that you’d do a better job of it than the Cabal was doing. I’m having second thoughts about the deal.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I hope not. That was a ninety-nine year lease, remember.”

 He glared at her in reply, and said, “Tell me that Captain Marshall would have done this. Tell me that Lieutenant Orlova would do this. Tell me with a straight face, looking me right in the eyes.”

 “I can’t, but that really has nothing to do with this, and you know it. Major Marshall is in command, and what he says, goes. It’s as simple as that.”

 “Nice and simple if you aren’t on the receiving end of it.”

 Orlova looked up and saw Major Marshall walking towards them; Bailey was staring after him, fury on her face, before turning back to the status board to input commands, her finger stabbing at the controls. 

 “Why did you give orders for me to be removed from my own control room?” Price said.

 Raising a hand, the Major replied, “An oversight on my part. I neglected to add you to the list of approved personnel. We can’t be too careful as things are at the moment, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

 “Yes, but…”

 “I’ve got the records on that Neander that tried to kill you, Pendol,” the Major said, turning away from the fuming Price. “Want to have a look?”

 “Certainly.”

 As they walked over to a vacant terminal, he continued, “I understand Carpenter hasn’t had much luck with her scans of the surface.”

 “Not yet,” Orlova replied. “The scientific loss could be considerable. If that was the only site…”

 “I doubt I’d authorize another trip down to the surface in any case,” he replied. “Not without a platoon of Espatiers as escort. We just don’t have the people, and I’m reluctant to risk anyone else, especially when we are this close to getting home.” Sitting down at the station, he slid in a datacrystal and started to type. “Here we are.”

  A series of records flashed up on the screen, text rapidly switching from French to English scrolling down the right-hand side. The process made Orlova extremely uncomfortable; most of the information related to his time as an indent, a slave by any other name.

 “Disgusting,” Price said on her behalf.

 “Useful, though,” the Major replied. “Apparently he had a record of insubordination.”

 “He didn’t like being a slave,” Price said. “I’d call that a badge of honor.”

 “Here we are,” Orlova said, as the text neared its end. “Hired by Hydra Station as a maintenance technician, specializing in sensor systems.”

 Nodding, the Major commented, “This is all beginning to make sense now.”

 “Visited the surface on five occasions, each for a single day…”

 “Not uncommon,” Price interrupted. “Below they can find their own people, a free society. Of course they want to visit it. I’ll be surprised if a lot of them don’t end up moving down there, ultimately. Could do both sides some good.”

 Looking up, Orlova said, “This doesn’t help.” 

 “Why?” the Major asked.

 Pointing at the screen, she said, “He’s got a cast-iron alibi for the time of the attacks; he was working in a spacesuit out on the hull with five others. For almost the whole time he was under surveillance.”

 “That’s suspicious in itself,” the Major replied. “It’s almost as if he went out of his way to make sure that he couldn’t be accused of taking part in what happened down there on the planet.”

 “Come on, damn it!” Price exploded. “Everything’s a god-damn conspiracy to you! He was doing his job on the outer hull. End of story. Why he decided to go mad and attack Maggie is a mystery to me, but…” He stopped, looking down at the deck, and continued. “You’re going to use this to continue your witch hunt.”

 “The fact remains that a party on the surface was attacked,” the Major said. “We can’t get away from that. He might not have been involved, but he was certainly skilled enough to camouflage a shuttle launch on our sensors.”

 “There’s something, though,” Orlova said. “There can’t be many of them. Pendol would have been far better kept in the shadows, continuing his work. To me this points to a small group of conspirators. Hell, it wouldn’t have taken that many to ambush us on the surface. We were caught by surprise and separated, and I never actually saw anyone.”

 “I hope you’re right,” the Major replied, “but I’m not planning to rule anything out at the moment. I don’t dare take the risk.”

 “Sir?” Bailey said, sullenly. “I’ve just received a petition over the public channels. Twenty-nine names, all demanding the immediate release of Pendol from our custody.”

 Bolting up from his chair, he replied, “Twenty-nine?”

 “All but nine of them Neander. Most of the Neander personnel on the station. What do you want me to do about it, sir?”

 Price shook his head, and said, “We can’t let him go, but I know what’s brought this on. They’re worried about him, and I can’t blame them. What about letting a deputation on board to take a look at him, reassure them that he is receiving proper and fair treatment?”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “That might not be such a bad idea, sir. We could ensure that they were properly escorted at all times, and if it would stop the protests in their tracks.”

 “No,” the Major replied, shaking his head. “Not a chance. We can’t let them think that they have any influence over our decisions, or this will just be beginning, not the end. What we have now got is a list of twenty-nine suspects.”

 “Can I have a look at the list?” Price said, and Bailey handed him a datapad. After a few seconds skimming it, he nodded, and said, “I thought as much. Zardok.”

 “Life support technician?” Orlova said. “I think I remember him.”

 “He’s an activist. I remember the Captain of the Dumont complaining about him all the time, I ended up buying his contract to keep him safe. That bastard would have spaced him eventually. My guess is that he’s the ringleader of this.”

 “Then I want him arrested immediately.”

 Orlova’s eyes widened, and she said, “Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If we do that, then it will simply confirm all of the worst suspicions of the people who signed their names to that list, and even if we could arrest and hold them all, that would cripple station operations. Most of them are just concerned about their friend.”

 “What do you want to do, then?” the Major said.

 “Let me go and talk to him, off the record. He might listen to me, and if this can be solved without any further bloodshed, we ought to take that chance.”

 With a sigh, he nodded, and said, “I have two conditions to this. The first is that you will not commit yourself to anything without consulting me, and the second is that you have an escort. I’ll call Sergeant Forrest to accompany you.”

 Price added, “Zardok’s down in the lower levels at the moment. I’ll have him paged...”

 “No,” Orlova said. “Just in case, I think it better if I give him a surprise. Just give me the details of his current work assignment, and I can handle the rest.”

 “Good idea,” the Major said. “I’ll go rustle up your escort.” He walked over to the far side of the room, back towards Bailey, and Price settled down in the chair, typing in commands. He paused, then looked up at her.

 “Be careful down there. The last thing we need is another incident. Everything’s out of control enough at the moment.”

 “I’m glad you are concerned.”

 “Dammit, you know what I mean,” he said. He shook his head, then pointed at the screen, “There you are. Lower level of the ring, section nine. According to the logs, he should be almost finished with his current job.”

 “Good, then I won’t be disturbing anything vital.” She paused, then said, “You know that he is only doing what he has to do, don’t you?”

 “I know that. That’s all any of us are doing.”

 Forrest walked up to the door, and Orlova, one last look around the operations room, headed over to him. He snapped to attention as she approached, his arm raising to a parade-ground salute that she returned as correctly as she could.

 “You don’t have to be quite so formal, Sergeant.”

 His grizzled face breaking into a smile, he said, “After all that time in the cage, I’m enjoying all of this too much.”

 “I see. Shall we go?”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, reaching into his pocket and picking out a sidearm. “You might want this.”

 She looked at the pistol, shook her head, and took it, placing it in her holster, “We shouldn’t have to do anything like this, not here.”

 “I know, but given the circumstances…”

 Nodding, she said, “Let’s get this done.” The two of them walked down the corridor, stepping onto a waiting elevator. It ran almost the whole length of the station, looping them around to the far side of the habitation ring, half a mile through the shafts, before the doors opened again in a darkened area, lights flickering on and off. In the gloom, she could see half a dozen people standing around, a murmur of conversation that stopped as soon as they became aware of her presence.

 “I’m looking for Zardok,” she said. “Is he here?”

 One of them, a tall Neander with long, shaggy hair, stepped forward, saying, “One of our overlords coming to talk to us? We are honored.”

 “This is a murder investigation,” she replied, and they turned to chatter again. She recognized one of the figures in the corner as Ixia, the Neander who had accompanied Ouroboros on its rescue mission. When she saw Orlova looking at her, she turned down to the deck.”

 “Lieutenant,” she said.

 “I haven’t seen you since I left Ouroboros. Are you settling in?”

 “I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she said, looking up at Zardok. “This one isn’t like the others. She understands, more than most of them.”

 “They’re our oppressors,” he replied.

 “They freed me.”

 “To serve their own ends, not yours.”

 “Perhaps, but I watched her risk her life to save her people.” Looking up at Orlova and Forrest, she continued, “These aren’t Cabal enforcers. They’re different.”

 “I don’t see any difference in the way they are behaving. Or was I dreaming when I was instructed that I was to be confined to quarters while on duty? That’s a Cabal trick. Next we’ll learn that we can’t escape our contracts.” He turned back, and said, “Are you here to do to us what you did to Pendol?”

 “That depends whether you are here to try and kill me or not. I will give you my word as an officer that he is being well-treated, and will receive a fair trial.”

 “Under your law, not ours.” He gestured up at Forrest, and said, “Is he your enforcer?”

 “Sergeant Forrest is worried about me. Does he have a cause?”

  Zardok waved his hands about, and said, “We are a peaceful people, at least, unless our anger is roused. And our tempers are being seriously strained at the moment.”

 Nodding, she replied, “I get the idea that you speak for their people. I’m able to speak for mine. Why don’t we talk?”

 “In a cell?”

 “No. Here and now, just the two of us.”

 “Lieutenant…,” Forrest rumbled, but she silenced him with a look. Zardok’s companions seemed as reluctant to leave them on their own, but Ixia was gesturing furiously, gabbling in a language she couldn’t understand.

 Finally, Zardok said, “My friends are concerned that you are armed, and I am not. It doesn’t seem fair.”

 Looking down at her holster, Orlova nodded, and said, “I agree.” She drew her pistol and passed it to Forrest. “Take care of that, will you.”

 “Maggie,” Forrest whispered. “This is taking a hell of a risk.” 

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I don’t think so. Six against two is lousy odds in any case.”

Nodding, Zardok replied, “I agree completely.” Looking around at his friends, he said, “We will have a little talk. I dare say it will not take long.”

 Forrest lingered for a moment as the rest broke away, dispersing into the shadows. Ixia remained, standing at Zardok’s shoulder, resolution fixed on her face, as finally the Sergeant made for the elevator.

 “You wished to speak to me, then. Here I am.”

 “Did you know Pendol well?”

 “I’ve known him for years. He can be hot-headed, but I don’t believe he would resort to violence.”

 “And yet he did,” Orlova replied. “He’d gone down to the surface a lot. Was he interested in joining the tribes on the surface?”

 A barking laugh was his response; he said, “You should have heard him berate those Elders for wasting their freedom, squatting down in the dust when they could have been reaching for the stars. No, he wasn’t going to become a primitive. He had dreams, as do we all. Of a collection of free Neander worlds, proud among the stars, the tyrants overthrown. Tell me,” he continued, crossing his arms, “if you have your war with the Cabal, what would you do?”

 “Once the fighting was over, you would have your freedom. We are not a colonizing power. You would be offered membership – equal membership – in the Confederation, but would be quite at liberty to go your own path.”

 He smiled, and said, “Do you expect me to believe that? I know you have annexed Ragnarok and Jefferson. Why wouldn’t you wish to expand further, to claim these worlds for your own?”

 “We fought for our own freedom not so long ago. Not to enslave another. We’d be stronger together than apart, but if you wished to set up your own state, that would be your affair, not ours.” Pausing, she replied, “Why did Pendol go down to the surface so often, then?”

 “History,” Ixia said. “He wanted to look at what remains of our past. So much has been lost, and on the surface they have preserved many of the old legends.”

 “He hoped that tales of great heroes of long ago would inspire our people to stand up and revolt. I don’t agree; we need to find our own courage, not borrow it from the long-dead. One day, we will have our freedom, whether you help us or not.” He smiled, then said, “After all, you wouldn’t be fighting the Cabal to save us, but to protect yourselves.”

 “We aren’t the universe’s policeman. We can’t be. There are things we can do, ways we can help. You could be linked up with other resistance groups, perhaps get training, equipment – there are other ways than a full-scale invasion.”

 “Listen to her,” Ixia said. “We’ve got too much blood on our hands already. Must we bathe in it further?”

 “Words and dreams won’t free us. It will take action.” He raised a hand, then said, “I know your next question, and I will answer it. I was not involved in the attack on the surface, nor were any of my friends. I give you my word on that. There are many who are more impatient than even I.”

 Footsteps echoed through the corridor, and Forrest charged towards them, hands raised, saying, “Lieutenant, we’ve got to get back to Alamo. Carpenter’s been attacked, a work crew from the station got away.”

 “Is she…”

 “Alive, and will recover. Her attacker is another story – apparently Private Morris killed him with one shot.”

 Shaking his head, Zardok said, “Another of my people killed.”

 “No,” Forrest replied. “His name was Gennady Ivanov. A shuttle pilot. Human.”

Chapter Fifteen

 Once again, Marshall sat at the controls of the Brunel, channeling his brief experiences as a starship pilot from more than a decade ago as he carefully guided the freighter towards the hendecaspace point, the course being fed into the computer by Newton from the command chair. It felt strange, and oddly liberating, to be a crewman on this trip rather than being in charge; he felt as though he could relax and enjoy the ride.

 The spoiler loomed on the sensor display above him, the Dauntless, the Cabal vessel that had been loitering half-way across the system, waiting for them to move. At the very least, they were going to test the accuracy of Cabal tracking technology in a moment, though while he hoped that they might be able to give the battlecruiser the slip, he didn’t actually believe they would manage it.

 “Fifty seconds to the egress point,” he said, not looking up from his controls.

 “You have the call,” Newton said. “Astrogation checks completed.”

 “Aye. I have the call.”

 He rested his hands over the console, tapping a button to release the systems to automatic control. The timing was far too split-second for this to be anything other than a one-in-a-million backup – the few times a human had managed to guide a ship into hendecaspace without computer control had been more by luck than judgment. As the countdown dropped to zero, he tapped the button, and with a blinding blue flash, the ship transitioned.

 “Jump successful,” he reported. “Ship on dimensional trajectory.”

 “Sensors, Cantrell,” Newton said.

 “Working. If they jump as soon as they see us start to move to the egress point, we’ll have company in about eighty-five seconds.”

 “That’s something we could try next time,” Cooper said. “Fake a plan to jump.”

 Marshall smiled, then said, “Good idea, but too late. There’s only one place we could realistically be going from our next stop.”

 “There’s only one place we can go,” Romaine, still lurking at the back, said. “We don’t have the fuel to reach anywhere else civilized. Not even Sinbad.”

 “Ten seconds,” Cantrell said. “Six. Five. Ah.”

 “Got them?”

 “Four and a half seconds sooner than I thought, but within the margin of error. They must be really sharp on their drive systems and course projections. Unless they slaved themselves to our trajectory.”

 Marshall turned, and asked, “Are they following us?”

 “Looks like.”

 “I’m sending you calculations for the slew course now. That should take us even further away next time,” Newton said.

 “It won’t matter,” Marshall replied. “They’re going to jump the second they can, no later. They won’t wait on our course for the jump to Alamo.” He looked down at his console, nodded, and tapped a sequence of controls. “Course change implemented. Estimated time to normal space is four days, thirteen hours.”

 “Dauntless will emerge a hundred and five seconds later.”

 “Which will give us maybe four minutes’ headstart when we get to Hydra Station,” Newton said. “We have to work out how to make the best use of it.”

 “Why?” Romaine said. “This isn’t our fight. I still say that we should make sure we get out of the way, keep well clear of the battle.” He turned to Marshall, and said, “If your ship is as good as you claim, then I can’t see what a freighter could do to help us.”

 “Much as I hate to agree with him,” Fuller said, turning from the communications station, “he’s got a point. This isn’t a warship, not even a fleet auxiliary. A couple of missile hits in the right place and we’d be running for the escape pods.”

 Marshall rose, looking at the room, and said, “No-one is suggesting that we should try to go toe-to-toe with a battlecruiser. That doesn’t mean hiding at the wrong side of the system.”

 “You’re going to get us killed!” Romaine shouted. “I didn’t come along on this trip to die.”

 “No, you came along on this trip because it was better than being left floating in space,” Newton said. “Captain Marshall is quite right. I hate to break it to all of you, but we’ve committed several serious crimes against the Cabal, and I don’t think that throwing ourselves on their mercy is a workable plan.”

 “You got us into this!” Romaine said.

 “We knew what we were doing,” Fuller said. “I don’t regret that part. I just don’t see what it is we can do, other than, well, stay out of the way.”

 “We need to be getting in the way of the Dauntless,” Marshall said. “By now, Alamo should have finished work on the orbital defense network. That’s going to make Hydra Station a tough nut to crack.”

 Shaking his reddened face, Romaine said, “That’s just proving my point. You’ve got all of this hardware at your disposal…”

 “And it still might not be enough,” Cantrell interrupted. “I’ve been studying that ship for days, and it’s a monster. Bigger than anything we’ve met before on Alamo, about half-way between a battlecruiser and a dreadnought. I’d say it was designed as a fleet command ship.”

 Cooper standing at the rear, said, “Those functions won’t help them, though. They might be bigger, but…”

 “Nice thought, but I’ve counted eight missile tubes. No laser, but there are plenty of particle beams. I don’t like our chances of getting a missile salvo into position. Added to which she’ll have lots of armor and redundancy in her systems.”

 “Weak spots?”

 “She must have them, but the resolution in these sensors isn’t enough to help that much. I know this much – she’s got a good acceleration profile. My projection of the battle has Dauntless entering orbit around Driftwind in about thirty-one minutes, assuming Alamo doesn’t come out to meet it.” 

 “They’d have to be crazy,” Cooper said. “With the orbital defense network, they’ve got a hell of an edge. Between the two of them, it ought to be a fairly even fight.”

 “Is there anything we can do to delay them, hold them off?” Newton asked.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “It’s worth a look, but it wouldn’t help that much, except perhaps giving more warning time. If Alamo gets away, that still leaves Hydra Station, and I wouldn’t like to see it face Dauntless alone. It needs fleet support.”

 “This is all about that damn ship of yours, isn’t it,” Romaine said. “What about us?”

 “Captain, I have to think about the Brunel before anything else,” Newton said, but as Romaine’s face grew smug, she continued, “Which is why we need to do everything we possibly can to assist Alamo. If for no other reason than we frankly need the Confederation battlecruiser to win this battle.”

 “Thank you, Captain.”

 “My pleasure. Now we just have to work out how we can do it.”

 “You are both going to get yourselves killed,” Romaine said. “I’m not going to be a part of this.” He pushed off through the doors and out into the corridor, loitering for a moment in evident hope that others would follow him, then continuing into self-imposed exile.

 “Well, that should make things a little easier,” Cantrell said. “Quieter, too.”

 “First question,” Marshall said, “What about fitting armament to the Brunel.”

 “Out of the question,” Newton replied. “If for no other reason than we don’t have any equipment along those lines, no guidance software, nothing. That’s not going to work.”

 Fuller frowned, then said, “We’ve got something we could use.”

 “What?”

 “The escape pods. If we could modify the guidance controls, they’d be excellent as kinetic weapons. We could scatter them as mines, spread them around the egress point.”

 “No-one’s ever mined an egress point. The dimensional instability moves them around too much…,” Newton said.

 Pressing on, Fuller said, “This time, though, they only have to hold station for a few minutes. Surely we can manage it.”

 “We can,” Marshall said, “but I would oppose such a plan.”

 “Oh?” Newton asked. “It’s a good idea.”

 “First of all, it would leave this crew with no means of escape. More importantly, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get into the habit of using escape pods as weapons. All that would mean is that in future battles, both sides would have to shoot them down, or give them a wide berth.”

 “I hadn’t thought of that.”

 “I suppose we could modify some probes, something like that?” Cooper suggested.

 Shaking her head, Newton replied, “Unless you brought the schematics with you, we can’t fabricate them. Such designs are kept very secret – the Cabal doesn’t like civilians to be armed, or even to have anything that could potentially be turned into a weapon. I suppose at a pinch we could try and ram the Dauntless, but the point-defense guns would rip us to pieces before we even got close.”

 “Let’s take a look at the Dauntless again,” Marshall said. “Can you put it on the screen?”

 “Sure,” Cantrell said, and she tapped a control. The long, menacing lines of the super-battlecruiser appeared, and he stood up, looking at it, frowning.

 “Got any pictures of the ones we’ve seen earlier?”

 “Probably,” she said, and after a few moments, a second, smaller ship appeared. Marshall studied them for a moment, then turned back to the bridge.

 “Is it just me, or is Dauntless a lot newer than the other craft?”

 “Launched twenty-one months ago, in a glaze of publicity,” Fuller said. “They boasted about it enough that I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it back at Sol.”

 “First of her class?”

 “As far as I know,” he said.

 “Interesting.” After another moment’s thought, he said, “There’s only one thing I can think of, and that is electronic warfare.” 

 Shaking her head, Newton replied, “We’re even worse at that.”

 “No,” he said, turning to Cantrell, “We have an expert on board.”

 “Captain,” she said, “I can’t…”

 Smiling, Marshall walked over to her, and said, “Sub-Lieutenant, you have, in your pockets, all manner of interesting, cutting-edge programs, right. I’d bet that some of it was designed specifically to take a crack at Cabal systems.”

 “Not that I don’t trust this crew, but…”

 “And you have been trained in this field, I assume.”

 “Captain, I have direct orders on this.”

 He nodded, and said, “As field commander, I’m countermanding them. We’ve got to get back, and we have to get Alamo back, and it just became even more important that we complete our mission.”

 “Sir, the Dumont is on its way back with the Cabal database. I want to get us back, but...you’re putting me in a hell of a position, here. I was supposed to be deep cover, remember.”

 “Take my word for it, Sub-Lieutenant – we have got to get home. The Dumont can’t do the job, because we have new information to provide. I’ll give you a written order on this, but I want you to upgrade the Brunel’s computer systems in any way you can.”

 “Even if I do this, we’re going to struggle against the Dauntless. They’ll have a thousand times the processing power at their disposal, and teams of counter-hackers fighting me off.”

 “David beat Goliath, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Then put him in the electronic-warfare seat,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do. Can I borrow Cooper?”

 “By all means.”

 Newton added, “Take anyone you need. Any edge we can get will be useful, and I’d rather get involved in a battle of computer programs than watch missiles get through about.”

 “That could still happen,” Fuller said, shaking his head. “I still think that this is a bad idea.”

 Standing up, Marshall said, “Mind if I leave the bridge?”

 “Not at all,” Newton said. “There isn’t much for the helm to do for a while. I can handle it.”

 Nodding, he pushed into the corridor, thoughts and ideas swirling around in his head. As he drifted into the elevator, he called up the data on the Dauntless on his datapad, going over it again, confirming all of his suspicions. The doors opened on the quarters deck, and he moved three doors down, tapping the chime.

 “Come in,” the Commandant’s voice said. “It is always a pleasure to have visitors.”

 His room was exactly as Marshall had expected – everything tidied, in good order, all stowed away properly for variable gravity. A trio of neatly pressed uniforms hanging on a rack, drifting back and forth despite being locked down. He tossed the datapad to the Commandant, who snatched it out of the air.

 “I’ve been admiring your old ship,” he said. “Though there are certain aspects of her design that rather surprise me.”

 “Oh?” the Commandant said.

 “Clearly, it was designed as a fleet command ship; I presume that it was out of position to engage Alamo before.”

 “I can neither confirm nor deny your supposition.”

 “Something else. You can’t have been in command of it for long.”

 “I am not required to provide you with my service record.” He smiled, then said, “You are wondering why I was not commanding that ship before, I presume.”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “Not that it particularly matters. Its presence here gives me one very important piece of information, in any event.”

 “And that is?”

 “The Cabal is getting desperate. That ship is the first in its class, less than two years out of spacedock. New ships – especially pioneering, cutting-edge designs – are always harbor queens for a long time. You don’t throw them into the firing line unless you have to. More than that, what would be the point in using a command ship by itself? A waste of capability.” He gestured at the Dauntless again, and said, “That ship was designed to be the core of the fleet that will attack the Confederation.”

 “You have a very interesting theory, Captain. I presume you also believe that the task force you encountered had a similar mission, accounting for their presence in this area. You believe – and feel free to stop me if I am getting this wrong – that our resources are far more stripped than we have led you to believe.”

 “I do.”

 A smile crossing his face, the Commandant said, “Would you like me to tell you a story, Captain? Naturally, it is a work of fiction, and any potential resemblance to real situations would simply be an astounding coincidence.”

 “I’d be fascinated.”

 “Let us say that there are two governments, one of which has for some time been planning to conquer the other. We won’t go into the reasons why at this point; they are hardly germane to our discussion. But for some years, preparations have been made, ships assembled, new ships constructed, others husbanded, intelligence networks established.”

 “Interesting situation,” Marshall said, reaching up for a handhold.

 “Then, suddenly, the picture changes. The target begins to move, builds ships of its own, and launches an expedition that uncovers all of this, as well as gathering significant intelligence that cannot be permitted to be known. A significant part of the battle fleet is committed to stop it, but due to political blundering and a too-aggressive commander, that fails, and the fleet is shattered. Now, our friends the would-be invaders have a problem.”

 “Their invasion force is gone, and their secret is out.”

 “Back home, two groups are struggling for power. The first would use all of the reserves and launch the attack anyway, beginning the war immediately. The first step is risky, to use whatever is left, say a single ship, to try and stop the intelligence getting home.”

 “A ship like the Dauntless, for sake of argument,” Marshall offered.

 “Indeed. This faction has assembled a second fleet, but in so doing has left their territory vulnerable to attack from other areas, exposed to potential invasion from other governments. Now, there is a second faction, a group that until recently has been pushed back from decision-making, but which is now gaining influence as the aggressor faction fails.”

 Folding his arms, Marshall said, “And what does this faction want?”

 “Peace. Through negotiation. Perhaps one day a more militant stance will be practical, and the long-term goals for most have not changed, but at the very least, it seems more logical to come to an arrangement, say a non-aggression pact. Of course, for this to work, an ambassador would have to be sent, one who could arrange for safe passage into enemy territory.”

 “No wonder you were so quick to rescue me,” he said.

 “I was speaking purely theoretically.”

 “Naturally. Do continue.”

 “That man would have a double mission. You see, the first faction would have enough influence – they still, of course, are in control – to prevent someone simply being sent. So his primary mission….”

 “Would be to lead the, shall we say, Dauntless, to find this lost ship, and destroy it. Should that fail, then he would switch to his secondary mission, on the presumption that the failure of his mission would mean that the aggressor faction would be deposed, and the peacemakers come into ascendancy.”

 “You read the situation extremely well, Captain. Naturally, the operative would be in an extremely difficult position, and no matter what he thought privately, he would be forced to attempt to accomplish his primary mission first.”

 “Even if he really wanted it to fail. What you are saying then…”

 “Is that if, in this fictional circumstance, you wanted to truly accomplish your mission and help remove the threat of an invasion, the Dauntless must be destroyed, no matter what it takes. Only then will you have thwarted the aggressors, and permitted the agent to try and talk peace. Then you will have an ambassador, not a prisoner, to take home.”

 “In theory.”

 “Theories are wonderful things, Captain. I – and many others, back home – are counting on you to turn them into reality.”

 “I’d better get on with it then.” He turned, and paused at the door, “I notice that either way, the agent is poised to win. Either as the leader of a military triumph or as a peacemaker.”

 “The genesis of a good plan. A no-lose scenario.”

 “Unless we are destroyed by the Dauntless, of course,” Marshall said, smiling at the Commandant's reaction as he left the room.

Chapter Sixteen

 Carpenter looked up, struggling to focus on Orlova through a haze of painkillers and medication; Doctor Duquesne was standing over in a corner, frowning. She gestured at the tubes sticking in her arm and managed a thin smile.

 Don’t worry, Maggie, I’m fine,” she said, softly.

 “No, she isn’t,” Duquesne said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “It’s my fault. Damn it, I’m sorry, Susan.” 

 “How could you have known what would happen?”

 “I should have thought of it, arranged a guard.”

 “Sergeant Forrest was fast enough with that. Look,” she gestured at the door, where a trooper was standing at parade rest, his eyes fixed on the corridor. “I couldn’t be in better care. It’s you I’m worried about.”

 With a smile, she said, “Don’t worry about me. It’ll take a lot more than a couple of thugs to bring me down.”

 “You aren’t immortal, Maggie.” Her eyes started to flutter shut, and Duquesne stepped forward.

 “Visiting hours are over, Lieutenant. You can come back and see her again tomorrow.”

 Reaching down, Orlova squeezed Carpenter’s hand, and said, “Take care, Susan.” She looked up at Duquesne and said, “How is she? Really?”

 “One of my better customers,” she replied. “No major damage, just a few minor fractures. I’ll have her out of here in a couple of days, back on light duty in a week. Most of the monitoring is just a precaution.”

 Orlova walked over to the far side of the room, looking through a window into the intensive care suite, where the Neander who attacked her was lying on a bed, monitors everywhere, a respirator clamped to his mouth. Duquesne looked over at her, disgust on her face.

 “Enjoying the show?”

 “Not particularly,” she replied. “I didn’t have a choice about this. He tried to kill me.”

 “I think he’ll live. I had a couple of the medical technicians over from Hydra yesterday.” Sighing, she said, “You’re lucky I’m a genius. There shouldn’t be any brain damage, though I’ve still got him in a medical coma for his own safety.”

 “What does that mean?”

 “I mean that he’s a lot better off unconscious for the present, Lieutenant. Nothing more or less. Nor do I intend to try and revive him until I am damn sure it will be safe for him.”

 “How long?”

 “How the hell should I know? I’m not a fortune teller.” Shaking her head, she said, “Maybe a week, maybe ten days. Probably more like the latter. It’s the best I can do for the moment.” Gesturing at the door, she continued, “Any chance of getting rid of the grunt? I don’t think there’s much chance he’s going to escape.”

 “None at all. Carpenter’s a stationary target right now. Her attack proved that just being on Alamo isn’t protection enough. I’m not going to take any more risks with her.”

 “What about yourself?”

 “That’s different,” she said, patting the holster at her side. “I can look after myself.”

 Duquense glanced down at it and grimaced, then said, “Look, don’t take this personally, but I really don’t want any more guests in here. You want my professional medical opinion? One of those guards might be good for your health.”

 “Can’t spare the manpower, Doctor, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

 “To hell with that, I just want to cut my workload down.”

 The two of them turned as Nelyubov walked into the room, a datapad in his hand and a frown on his face. He looked at Carpenter, shook his head, then made his way over to Orlova.

 “Report from the security department. Nine percent of the gathered sensor data is missing, and irretrievable.”

 “Damn it,” Orlova said, drawing a harsh look from Duquesne. “Totally lost?”

 “I’m afraid so. The last nine hours of data. Including the readouts that Carpenter was looking at when she was attacked. My guess is that our saboteur was trying to stop her seeing something.”

 “Sounds reasonable. Any more news on him?”

 “Not a thing, and I can’t find any connection between her attacker and our friend in there,” he gestured at the Neander, “other than a couple of trips down to the planet. Which doesn’t mean a damn thing, of course, if they were in league together. Worked down on the planet for most of his time, vehicle technician, but transferred up to the station a couple of weeks ago.”

 “At his request?”

 He nodded, and said, “Apparently it was routine enough that no-one asked any questions. Price doesn’t know the guy, just a face on a file.”

 “Then there’s only one answer. We’ve got to take another look at the surface.”

 “Fine, but we’ll have to break orbit to do it in less than five days.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Not an option. I don’t want to leave our current position in the shelter of the defense satellites. Besides, that would make it clear that we were on to them.”

 “They’ll expect us to work this out soon enough, surely.”

 “Probably, but...we’ll take a shuttle. Have the duty pilot meet me at the hangar bay.”

 “Want me to come?”

 “With the Major over on the station and Caine still locked in her quarters, someone’s got to assume command while I’m off doing the crazy stuff.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “To think at one point I actually wanted promotion. Fine, I’ll keep an eye on the store for you.”

 “Thanks,” she said with a smile. “One more thing. I don’t want anyone to know what we are doing. File a flight plan for a trip to the station. I’ll set up the course myself when I get down to the shuttle bay.”

 “I take it that means you don’t plan to tell the Major?”

 “This needs doing now, and I daren’t risk the communicator.”

 A grin spreading across his face, he replied, “That, and you suspect that he’ll say no.”

 “Now, Lieutenant, are you suggesting that I would attempt an action in the knowledge that permission would be denied by my commanding officer should I request it?”

 “In a word, yes.”

 Duquesne looked at the two of them, and said, “You are both out of your minds. I hope you know that.”

 “Know it? I depend on it,” Orlova said. “Let me know if the Neander’s condition changes.”

 “Sure, if he starts to deteriorate I’ll have plenty of time to run about calling people,” she replied. “Or do you have some mystical healing powers I don’t know about?”

 “Just keep me informed, Doctor. And that guard is for his protection as much as Carpenter’s. Some of his friends might prefer that he didn’t talk.” She turned and walked out of the room, heading for the elevator, and tapped for the hangar deck. The ride was surprisingly rapid, for once, and the deck chief waved her over to a waiting shuttle.

 “Take Three, she’s just been serviced. The pilot will be along shortly.” She frowned, then said, “You sure you need one?”

 “Quite sure, Chief. Thanks.”

 She stepped on board, climbing into the cockpit and programming a course to follow the missing sensor pass, isolating it from Alamo’s systems to ensure that no-one could see what she was doing. Trying to optimize the path for least-time was a harder job than she had thought, and the figure stepping behind her caught her by surprise.

 “I thought I was flying, Lieutenant,” Bradley said.

 Orlova turned, and Spaceman Bradley was standing in front of her, wearing a flight suit, moving past her to slide into the pilot’s seat.

 “You are, but I had to get everything set up for you.”

 She glanced at the navicomputer, and said, “I thought we were just hopping over to the station.”

 “That’s the cover story. I’m following a few leads. I’ll handle the sensors from the co-pilot’s seat if you don’t mind the company.”

 “It’s your charter.”

 As Orlova climbed into her seat, she said, “I thought you were still in the middle of bridge training?”

 “Actually, I finished this morning. Computer gave me a pass grade. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

 “I’m way behind on my paperwork, but that’s good news. Steele can certainly use the help, you can join Alpha Shift next watch. Excited to go?”

 She shrugged, and said, “It’s a job.”

 “It’s a commission if you do a good one,” Orlova replied, frowning. “Cooper, right?”

 “Damn bastard got under my skin,” she replied. “It was just a...but we were beginning to talk about more, and…,” she stopped, then said. “I’m fine.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “No, you aren’t. But you will be, in time.”

 Looking up, Bradley nodded, and said, “I know, and I’m really fine. Don’t worry, I’m not pulling a Caine and plotting your doom. I know that you did what you had to do. It just hurts like hell.”

 “Pulling a Caine?”

 With a thin smile, she said, “The lower decks are already bringing that into the shipboard slang. You know how it goes when something like that gets started.”

 Sighing, she said, “Pass the word that I want it to stop, and now. I’m serious about this; that had better be the last time the expression is used in my presence.”

 Bradley laughed, and at Orlova’s scowl, explained, “I’m sorry, but you really are becoming an Exec, aren’t you. It’s just a little...incongruous.”

 This is strictly temporary, as far as I’m concerned. I’m trying not to get too used to the idea.”

 “Word is that if the Major gets to take Alamo out again, you’d have the job permanently.”

 “I'd think the Admiralty would have more sense. Come on, let’s get going.”

 Bradley tapped a control, and the shuttle lowered away through the elevator airlock. Orlova kept an eye on the system status readings, half-expecting some sort of problem, but every indicator remained resolutely green. The shuttle spun around, away from the station, and the engines fired, kicking them into Orlova’s carefully planned trajectory.

 “I’m surprised no-one’s complaining that we’ve violated our flight plan,” Bradley said, “This is a hell of a course you’ve put us on. We’ll be dipping into the atmosphere twice. Are we in that much of a hurry?”

 “Is it going to be a problem?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “No, I can fly this. Not bad for a last flight.”

 “Last flight?”

 Glancing at Orlova for a second, she said, “I’m leaving the service when we get back. I’ll probably stay in the reserves, but...I want out.”

 “Cooper.”

 She sighed, and said, “I told you that we’d talked? We were thinking about setting up a shuttle and courier service, out in the Saturnian sub-system. I know the area pretty well, and there’s some good money there for someone who really knows those moons. With Cooper probably heading out…”

 “He wanted to stay in.”

 Smiling, she said, “On his own terms, not someone else’s. And I’d...I’d figured I’d go with him. I’ve been in uniform for seven years. That’s long enough, I think.” Looking at Orlova again, she said, “You don’t agree.” 

 It’s your life. But with Cooper dead…”

 Bradley took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve got to get over that, but Alamo’s full of bad memories. I don’t think I’ll be the only one leaving.”

 “It’ll be a pity.”

 “If you want someone else for the bridge…”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “No, I stand by my call that you are the best choice for the job. Getting you a reserve commission shouldn’t be any problem, it’ll give you a bit more money while you are setting yourself up.”

 “Thanks,” she said with a smile. “Just be sure to hire me any time you are out at Titan.”

 “It’s a date,” Orlova replied, reaching forward. “We’re coming into the trajectory now. All sensors to full.”

 “First atmospheric pass. This could be fun.”

 Bradley fired the engines, keeping their speed up as she guided the shuttle into an atmospheric skip. The sensors started to gather data, filling the gaps in the high-resolution map of the surface, Orlova watching the feed as it came in, waiting for any alerts. The pressure pushed her back into her couch as Bradley ramped up the acceleration. The shuttle’s nose dipped down, giving a full view of the planet, unnerving for a moment before Bradley pulled it back up and the shuttle raced out of the atmosphere.

 “How are we doing?” she said.

 “More than half the data is in, but I haven’t found anything yet. You set up to finish the run?”

 “Not a problem. What exactly is it that we’re looking for?”

 “I don’t know, but I will know when I see it.”

 “Wonderful. This sounds like an extremely well thought-out mission.”

 “Nothing but the best.”

 The shuttle soared over the planet, just above the atmosphere, drifting in a long curve down towards the southern polar area, an elusive spot to track. Thin traces of white draped themselves across the desert in this region, more water than on the entire rest of the planet slowly melting away.

While they descended down towards their second pass, Orlova went over the sensor data again.  There were a few anomalies in the readings, but nothing that stood out to her. Really, she needed Carpenter here to analyze the data. As she was pushed back in her chair again, though, something leapt out at her almost immediately.

 “Got something, and it’s pretty big!” she said. “Close to the south pole, looks like some sort of complex. Good match for the one we spotted earlier.” Focusing on the area, she smiled, “Debris in close proximity, looks like some sort of alloy. I think we’ve hit the jackpot.”

 “Great,” Bradley replied. “Should we head back to Alamo now?”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Not a chance. I want a closer look at that site. Can you take us down lower?”

 “Deep into the atmosphere?” she glanced across at her instruments, and nodded, “I can give you one low pass, then we’ll have to burn back to Alamo. We’ve just about got the fuel.”

 “Good. Set it up, and I’ll take a look at the instruments.”

 Glancing across, Bradley said, “Just in case this goes wrong…”

 “Got you.” Pulling out a microphone, she said, “Orlova to Nelyubov. Come in.”

 “I’m here,” the voice crackled. “You’re putting on quite a show.”

 “It’s going to get a lot better yet. I’m sending you some sensor data, I want it locked down good and safe. We’re making a second pass to get a closer look. Have a shuttle standing by to pick us up; we might be short on fuel after we get back up into orbit.”

 “Wouldn’t a surface party make more sense?”

 “Do you think it would have a hope in hell of being approved?”

 There was a pause before the reply came, “Probably not.”

 “We’re ready, Lieutenant,” Bradley said.

 The shuttle dipped again, curving around, using the upper atmosphere to slew its trajectory and spilling speed, falling down towards the planet. The heat shield started to glow dull red as they homed in on their target, Orlova’s attention closely focused on the sensor feeds as they began to register. Layers and layers of data gathered in the systems for later analysis, but then an alarm began to sound.

 “Radiological alarm? What the hell?” Bradley said, nursing the shuttle through the curve. They were now almost low enough that Orlova make out small features on the ground, out of the worst of the reentry cycle. Her face then began to pale as realization hit her.

 “Get us the hell out of here, right now!” she yelled, and the pilot hurried to comply.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I hope I’m just panicking,” Orlova began, but she was interrupted by a flash from the planet below, a noise like thunder rattling through the atmosphere, and the viewscreen instantly dimming to safe levels.

 “Shuttle!” the communicator anxiously yelled as a mushroom cloud began to rise from the surface of the planet, clouds of dust whipping around as Bradley hurriedly gained as much altitude as she could.

 “We saw it, Frank! We’re right in the middle of it!”

 “Stand by for the shockwave,” Bradley said, her hands locked down on the controls as she nursed every ounce of acceleration from the engines, roaring away from the ever growing cloud.

 “Getting hot outside,” Orlova said. “Shouldn’t affect us inside, though.”

 “Hold on!” Bradley said as the shuttle began to tumble, the propagating blast wave reaching out and throwing them aside, the engines struggling as she fought to maintain the altitude. Orlova glanced across, then out of the window, looking down at the ever-rising cloud, and the black desolation beneath.

 Gradually, the shuttle began to settle back down into an ascent trajectory, high enough in the atmosphere to escape the worst of the blast. Bradley settled down in her couch as they crested into orbit, and shook her head.

 “That was a hell of a ride.”

 “I don’t think there were any Neander in that region, thank God.” She looked at the sensor display, and said, “Well, whatever we’ve got is all we’re going to get. Someone’s going to a hell of a lot of trouble to hide something.”

 “I’d say they’d been successful.”

 “Yeah,” Orlova said, looking down at the planet, an ugly scar appearing on the surface as the cloud slowly began to disperse. Another piece of history lost forever.

Chapter Seventeen

 Cooper, alone in the darkened mess, pushed some unappealing, gray food around his plate, leaving a dull brown trail behind it, trying and failing to work up the enthusiasm to finish his belated dinner. It was way past midnight, ship’s time, only a skeleton crew currently running the ship, but retreating back to his quarters didn’t appeal. It was something of a relief when he saw a familiar figure in the doorway, pushing towards his table, though he initially didn’t want to admit it.

 “Up late, Cooper,” Cantrell said, sitting down opposite him.

 “I thought I’d eat in private.”

 “Don’t give me that crap,” she replied. “You were practically begging for someone to disturb you. Admit it.”

 “Maybe.” He poked a piece of gray meat, holding it up in front of him, “I wouldn’t mind so much if it tasted bad, smelled terrible. It doesn’t seem to be anything at all. It simply exists.”

 “People don’t go into space for the cuisine. What’s bothering you? We’ll be back at Hydra Station in eight days. Tomorrow we get to play chicken with Dauntless again in another out-of-the-way, nowhere system. What could be wrong with that?”

 “While you are all having your fun, I’ll be sitting at the back of the bridge again.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I feel as if I am just marking time, walking in place, waiting for this cruise to be over. I’ve done my job, and...it’ll be more of the same on Alamo, won’t it.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “This isn’t you. I’ve never seen you quite so sorry for yourself as you have been on this journey.”

 Smiling, he said, “My life got torn apart. Try having everything you’ve known and worked for, dreamed of, taken away. Then see what happens.”

 “I already know.”

 He frowned, and replied, “What do you mean?”

 “I’m trained as a deep cover agent. I’ve been doing it for...let’s just say that you were right, and I was not the rookie I was pretending to be. Now everyone on the ship knows that I work for Triplanetary Intelligence. My career is over, just like yours.”

 “I’m sorry. I really had no idea.”

 “What’s done is done,” she said. “It had to be. I needed to use my skills openly if we were going to make it home, and at the end of the day, my survival instincts are good enough to override my need for secrecy. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m in for a major career change as well.”

 “What are you going to do?”

 She shrugged, and said, “I’m probably better off than you, at that. I could walk into a role in analysis with a promotion and a pay rise, but I like getting my hands dirty. I’ve had a word with the Captain, and he’s happy to leave me behind at Hydra Station – Tyler can take my report back for me.”

 “Don’t you need to report in?”

 “I’ve been keeping some rather extensive logs during this trip, and no doubt someone will come out to debrief me in any case – but if I appoint myself as Intelligence liaison to Hydra Station, I don’t think anyone’s going to object too strongly.”

 “You don’t want to go home?”

 She chuckled, and said, “Deep-cover agents tend to burn all their bridges right at the start. I knew that going in. Cheap price to pay for what I ended up doing. If I’m stuck in the role of a Triplanetary officer, I might as well give myself a good headstart. For me, going home is a desk job. Never mind about me. What about you?”

 “Barbara and I were talking about going into business together. We’ve got some money saved up, and my uncle will probably help us get a loan. Shuttle service, courier, bodyguard work. That sort of thing.” He shook his head, and said, “I get the feeling I’m dragging her down with me, though. She was a lifer, just like me.”

 “You’ve known her for a long time.”

 He smiled, and said, “My family owns a couple of freighters, working the Mars-Callisto run. I spent a lot of time on them when I was a kid, learning that I didn’t have any potential as a space jockey. That’s why I joined the Espatiers to get into space. Barbara was hired as a pilot before she got into the service, spent a couple of years on one of my uncle’s ships.”

 Cantrell started to chuckle, then said, “Calculating your respective ages, I’m going to guess that she was a teenage crush.” His face turned red, and she said, “That’s really sweet.”

 “She’s only nine years older than me,” he replied.

 “Cooper,” she said, looking at his hand, “You are the victim of a fundamentally stupid regulation. That doesn’t change the fact that you do what you do extremely well.” She shook her head, and continued, “Nor does that change the person you are.” Pausing, she said, “Things happen in life that affect us in ways we don’t expect. Sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches, and sometimes you’ve got to fight back.”

 “Which means?”

 “That’s up to you.”

 A noise from the back of the room announced the arrival of half a dozen of the crew, lounging over towards one of the tables; most of them were nursing bottles, and given their general demeanor, it seemed reasonable to suppose that they were almost empty. Romaine seemed to be their focal point, Fuller also along for the ride, taking a long sip from his bottle as he drifted past Cooper.

 “Our glorious saviors!” Romaine said. “The ones who are going to save us from the Cabal. The only problem is that they don’t have a single damn idea how.”

 Cantrell wrinkled her nose, and said, “Maybe we could deploy your breath as a tactical assault weapon.”

 “Something wrong with me? Am I not good enough to associate myself with you two lovebirds? Freighter crews too low class for you?”

 “I don’t have any problem with freighter crews. I just have a problem with you.”

 Romaine belched a laugh, and a couple of his mates pulled him away, over to the table. Cooper gestured quietly at the door, urging the sanity of a retreat to another part of the ship; something at the back of his mind told him that this was not going to end well.

 “I know what we should do,” Fuller said. “Let’s get that rat of a Commandant, put a gun to his head, and tell the Dauntless that we’d blow his brains out if they don’t run away! He’s probably on some sort of double-top-secret mission anyway, the sneaky bastard.”

 “Yeah!” Romaine said, a couple of others joining him. “We should go and get him right now, drag him out of his cabin. He’ll know all sorts of stuff.”

 Cooper glanced at Cantrell, both of them knowing a potential riot brewing, and she quietly made for the door while he drifted over to the group, careful to make no noise or to make his presence known. Romaine took a swig of his drink, then grinned.

 “We shouldn’t stop there, either. This ship isn’t Newton’s because some foreigner says so. It should belong to all of us, equally! We’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

 “And who would be Captain,” Cooper said, face fixed. “I can guess who you have in mind for the job.” 

 “It should go to whoever can do it the best.”

 Nodding, he said, “Who decides? And how? You?”

 “I’m better qualified to judge than anyone here, aren’t I? Better than your precious Captain Marshall, anyway. Maybe we should offer him up to the Dauntless in exchange for safe passage! I bet they’d accept that offer!”

 His gurgling laughter was cut short by a sharp right hook to the face, Cooper following it up with a kick to the solar plexus that sent him tumbling across the room, droplets of cheap spirits dropping from his mouth. He slammed into the wall, red-faced, and pointed at the Espatier.

 “We going to put up with that? Get him!”

 Cooper had the benefit of a year’s training in hand-to-hand zero-gravity combat, and far more practical experience than he had ever wanted, but they were no slouches either, and outnumbered him six to one. He concentrated on trying to batter them away, kicking off with his legs to push himself around the room, but one of them managed to grab his arm, sending him tumbling into another.

 Trying to twist around, he spun the two of them in a drunken dance before his mates intervened, pinning him down to the wall. A fist – probably Romaine’s – smashed forward into his head, and everything went blurry as he felt himself drifting, tumbling through the room. The mob surged away, heading to the corridor, and he struggled to pull himself together, still dazed.

 Reaching into his pocket, he found one of the stimulants he’d picked up, and had just enough sense left in his head to take it, swallowing it down in one. He was going to regret it later, but for the moment it felt as if he had inhaled a dozen breaths of pure oxygen, and he dodged over to the wall, slamming his hand on the general alarm button.

 With sirens echoing around the walls, waking everyone on board, he pushed down the corridor after the mob, not quite knowing what he was going to do if he caught them up. He knew where they were going, and guessing that they wouldn’t be thinking clearly, ducked up into the overhead crawlspaces, tumbling through the narrow shafts in a bid to beat them to the Commandant’s quarters, not quite sure how much of a headstart he was attempting to make up.

 After a few moments, he heard voices mumbling beneath him, and he looked through the mesh to see the six of them pushing into each other as they lurched around a corner; if they got much more drunk, this wouldn’t have been a problem. The quarters were just ahead, and he pushed down through the access hatch to stand in front of them, blocking their way.

 “You again,” Romaine said.

 “It takes more than a drunken moron to stop me,” he replied. “You are not getting in here.”

 “Your friend has run off,” Fuller replied. “No guts.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “It only takes me to stop you getting through. Or do you really think that you are going to get away with this?”

 The door slid open, the Commandant at the threshold, saying, “Ah. I was wondering how long it would take for the lynch mob to arrive.”

 “We want what is best for us,” Fuller said. “Your war doesn’t matter to us. If we can trade all of you to the Dauntless to get out of it, then we damn well should.”

 “Then carry on with a new captain and give fair shares to the crew!” Romaine yelled.

 “Ah, this is a not-so-subtle grab for power, then,” the Commandant said with a sneer.

 Romaine lunged at him, but Cooper pushed him back, saying, “If you want to get him, you’ll have to get through me.”

 “Stay out of this,” Fuller said. “We want him, not you. Just get out of here.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “Not a chance in hell. I’m not lowering myself to your level.” 

 Turning to the others, Romaine said, “Come on, we can rush him.”

 “We?” the Commandant said. “Too scared to take him on by yourself?”

 A couple of the less-inebriated members of the mob drifted away from the back, heading off down the corridor, conscious of where this was likely to go and not wanting any part in it. Romaine looked back at the others, and they slowly moved towards him, drifting in closer. Cooper moved into the doorway, bracing himself, reaching one arm up to make him ready to hurl himself at the mob.

 A crack flew through the air, slamming into the wall, and Cantrell moved down the corridor, a pistol in her hands, now pointed at Romaine’s forehead. He froze, his eyes glancing to his associates; the others were beginning to move away, only Fuller standing in position.

 “This is as far as you go,” she said. “Sorry about the delay, Cooper.”

 “I think you were just about in time,” he replied, looming towards Fuller and Romaine. “Are you still interested in trying something?”

 “You’re just a coward,” Romaine spat.

 “I recall,” the Commandant said, “that you were the one who refused to attempt to take me without reinforcement from your erstwhile companions.”

 Shaking his head, Romaine looked at Cantrell in the eyes, and said, “You aren’t going to shoot me. Not an unarmed man.” 

 “Would you like to bet your life on it?” Cantrell replied. Cooper, taking a deep breath, leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Romaine, pinning him in position, while she moved to cover Fuller. He struggled in Cooper’s grip, wriggling in a futile attempt to escape, and Cooper managed to maneuver them towards an empty room, tossing him through the open door and closing it behind him.

 “Now you,” Cantrell said to Fuller, and the technician ruefully drifted into the quarters, Cooper activating the override to seal the door as it closed. Belatedly, a trio of crewmen led by Newton drifted down the corridor, bleary-eyed.

 “What the hell is going on here?”

 “Just an attempted riot. The ringleaders are in there,” Cooper said, gesturing at the door. “Frankly, they might as well stay in there until they sober up, at least.”

 “Let me guess. Romaine,” she said.

 “And Fuller.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “The guy’s a mean drunk, but I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to follow a fool like Romaine. Just them?”

 “Four others are going to be nursing heaving hangovers tomorrow,” Cantrell said. “One of the surveillance cameras probably picked them up if you want to know who they are.”

 “No point,” Newton replied. “They aren’t the ones I’m worried about.” Looking at the door, she said, “I might just leave them in there until we hit Hydra Station, though I’m not sure what the rest of the crew will say about that.”

 Cooper frowned, then said, “You’re the captain, surely.”

 “It isn’t as simple here as it is on a military ship. We don’t keep military discipline, but nor do I intend to keep people around who wander around the corridors drunk threatening to shoot people. That’s not smart.”

 “I agree,” the Commandant said. “Completely.” 

 “What you think matters less to me than what those drunks think,” Newton said. “I think everything should be quiet enough now for the night. I’m going back to my quarters.” Looking at the pistol still nestled in Cantrell’s hands, she said, “Put that away before you turn in.”

 Newton and her group drifted back off down the corridor, and Cantrell moved over to look at Cooper’s head, angry bruises rising where Romaine had hit him earlier.

 “Quit poking at it, I’m fine.”

 “You should probably head down to the medical bay.” 

 “I’ve got a first aid kit in my quarters,” Cooper replied. “That’s probably about the same sort of quality of medical care that I’d get.”

 “Nevertheless, I want to take a look at it. Come on.”

 “Wait a moment,” the Commandant said as they turned to go. “Mr. Cooper, thank you. I don’t think this situation would have gone well if you hadn’t intervened.”

 Turning to face him, Cooper replied, “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. If I’d let them have you, we’d be no better than you are, and this whole journey would have been pointless.” Turning to Cantrell, he said, “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like the air on this deck very much.”

Chapter Eighteen

 Marshall hadn’t seen much point in loitering on the bridge for the emergence into the new system. If they had accidentally managed to stumble upon the Dauntless, then his presence wasn’t going to help. Otherwise, the bridge crew could manage without him; his attention was far more focused on the next emergence, seven days from now, when they would get back to Hydra Station, bringing hell riding with them.

 Part of him still wanted to decoy the battlecruiser away, attempt to stop the encounter, but the Commandant’s words were still replaying in his mind. This could be the final piece of a chain of events that could stop the war he had thought inevitable. The whole, long operation was finally coming to a climax, and all they had to do was win one more battle, take down one more Cabal ship, albeit their largest opponent yet, and then return home in triumph.

 He smiled as he realized that he might be being rather optimistic. His sailing orders had been deliberately vague, the President telling him nothing more than to find out everything he possibly could about the Cabal, and their departure had been shrouded in sufficient secrecy to stop anyone from asking too many questions. Not that it had made much difference to the Cabal, but it might give him some cover when they got back.

 Twenty-nine of his people – Alamo and the late Hercules combined – would not be coming home. Not counting anyone else who was lost in the battle to come, or the unknown perils of the Shrouded Stars. The ‘secret spacelane’ of the resistance had turned out to be nothing more than a smuggler’s route, but soon they would be cruising home through truly unexplored space.

 That ought to be a thrill for him, the sort of mission that he would normally have sought, but there was a weariness deep inside, a desire to simply get home and bring this mission to an end. They’d been scheduled for six months, and they were already pushing nine. Likely it would be almost a year before they finally got back to Mariner Station. Pausing for a moment, he made a brief notation to commission Alamo’s two remaining midshipmen when he got back; they should be sitting their promotion boards about now, but there was little fear of them failing, and he couldn’t see why they should lose seniority. Even just a provisional appointment would be sufficient.

 Now he was actually seeking out paperwork, he thought, smiling. Perhaps that was a sign of old age, or perhaps the early thrills of command were settling down at last. He called up the schematics of the Dauntless, updating a piece at a time as Cantrell managed to garner more and more information. That ship could be doing a lot more to keep itself hidden than it was, but perhaps that wasn’t the point. They still hadn’t found any effective weak spots, just a few possible windows for hacking that might bear fruit. Alamo was going to have to try and defeat it the old-fashioned way, missile bombardment and laser blast. 

 He longed to be able to warn them; he’d been composing the message alerting his father to the danger a hundred times in his head. Brunel would have a grand total of four minutes to give some head-start to Alamo, long enough for them to make the normal defensive preparations, but they were still going to be caught on the hop. Quinn would have completed the repairs – it wasn’t even beyond the realm of possibility that Alamo wouldn’t be there when they arrived, already starting its passage home. If that happened, then Brunel’s life expectancy would be measured in minutes, if not seconds, and Hydra Station would likely suffer a similar fate.

 His door chimed, and opened to admit Newton, who drifted in and settled down on a loose chair-harness by the wall, swinging back and forth. Marshall tossed his datapad gently away, bouncing on his bed.

 “I thought you’d like to know that we are a good hundred million miles from Dauntless. Even better than last time, though it’s sent us rather into the outer darkness.”

 “When I didn’t hear the sound of panicked sirens, I rather thought that everything had gone according to plan. Who’s got the bridge?”

 “Tarrant. Did you hear about the trouble we had last night?”

 Nodding, he replied, “Cantrell briefed me this morning, and I dropped in on Cooper. Still out cold, but he looked fine when she put him to bed, apparently. Overdosed on stimulants to get him into the fight.” Shaking his head, he said, “He’s gone above and beyond a dozen times, just on this mission.”

 “I understand he’s going to be thrown out of the service. Frankly, I was thinking of offering him a job. There are times when I could use some muscle, and Cooper handles himself as well as anyone I’ve ever seen.”

 With a smile, Marshall said, “I intend to make sure that he isn’t on the job market any time soon. Anyway, that’s not why you are here, is it?” It was a statement, not a question.

 “No. I’d half-expected Romaine to try something stupid, it’s in his nature. Genetics got him his job, and genetics is going to give him an appointment with the next Proctor we run across. Or whatever you call them in the Confederation.”

 “I don’t think we’re going to be able to do much more than a summary hearing at Hydra. We could probably do as much here if you want to get it over with.”

 “It’s Fuller that I’m more concerned about. He can’t handle his drink, but usually he just sits in his cabin and pounds on the walls for a while. I know he didn’t agree with what we’re doing, but this is way out of character, even for him.” Looking up at Marshall, she said, “I’m in over my head here. I’ve never led a crew into battle before. They have a point – none of them signed up for this.”

 “What about the rest?”

 “Tarrant’s spending all his time thinking about the credits he’s going to make out of the deal you offered.” She paused for a second, then said, “That is in your power to grant, isn’t it?”

 “Battlecruiser commanders spend most of their time – at least, these days – out beyond communications range. Even if I had a courier on hand, it would be two months before I got authorization for anything. As a result, at least at the moment, we have a rather wide variety of powers. It’s subject to review, of course, but with a shipping line up and running, I don’t think anyone’s going to complain.”

 “I hope not,” she replied. “My crew are taking a hell of a risk, and they deserve a hell of a reward.”

 “Ouroboros is certainly in my power to award. Payment for the use of your ship. There’s actually precedent during the war, most of the merchant shipping lines operated with impounded UN transports from the mega-corps that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most of them were handed out to keep essential supply lines open. With the benefit that this time, you aren’t going to run into commerce raiders. At least, I hope not.”

 “And these Shrouded Stars?”

 “All I know is that it is a run of five brown dwarves with fuel sources on two of them to let us refuel. Setting up the refining is going to be a long process; we can do it, but it’ll take weeks to process enough for the last jump. Don’t imagine I’m going to give you an easy ride.”

 “I’ll think of something,” she said, shrugging. “Worst case I have a friend in high places who can help me sort out a bank loan.” With a smile, she continued, “I never thought I’d even get to command this ship, still less run a shipping line. Tarrant’s got no interest at all in it. He just wants to fly around the galaxy. So do I, but…”

 “The challenge of trying to make something more of it appeals.”

 Shrugging, she said, “Like I told you before, this way I’ll probably get to see a lot more interesting places than I otherwise would. I’m going to Sol this time, that much is certain.” 

 “I’ve got a lot of leave coming,” he replied. “Not that I’ll probably get to take much of it, but if you get out to Mariner Station while I’m there, I’ll show you around. Mars too. The vineyards in the Valles Marineris – miles and miles of covered dome, all of it green. There’s a part of it you can actually go camping in, off by yourself, but it costs a small fortune to reserve a spot.”

 “Sounds nice. I haven’t spent much time on habitable worlds, mostly space stations and dome cities. The Cabal tends to keep its Earthlike worlds as second-class, behind the orbital facilities. Not much mixing.”

 “And Golgotha?”

 “Dome world just like the rest of them, occupied about eighty years or so. A bit like Titan, from what I’ve read of it. Thick, heavy atmosphere, dull oranges and reds all the time. Sometimes the storms would rattle the walls of the dome, and lighting would smash down all around us into the methane seas.” She smiled, and said, “I didn’t see green until I was old enough to go into one of the parks. What about you?”

 “I was born on Earth, though I don’t remember much about it.”

 “Earth?” she said, her eyes widening in wonder. “What was it like?”

 “We left when I was about three, my parents emigrated to Mars when it became obvious there was going to be a showdown. It was cold, I remember the snowstorms in winter. Going outside and playing in it, without doing anything more than putting on a coat. Moving to Mars was quite a jolt, but it’s home, now. Sort of.”

 “Home?”

 “Only technically, I guess. About all I have there is a few bits and pieces in storage. My mother died in the first year of the war, in the merchant service, and my father…”

 “Cantrell told me about him.”

 Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Checking up on me, are you?”

 “I was interested. Wanted to know what you were doing way out here. You really dropped everything to try and find your father?”

 “And his crew. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to go into deep space in the first place. At least I’ve managed to pull that off.”

 Smiling, she replied, “You’re worrying more about what’s going to happen when we get home than the battle we’ve got coming up. I can’t imagine that you have anything serious to worry about. After the havoc you’ve caused the Cabal, who is going to complain?”

 “It isn’t just that. I’ve bent my orders in two to get the mission done, but I’ve stuck to the spirit every time. I just have a horrible fear that I’m going to get promoted when we get home.”

 “That’s a problem?”

 “Lieutenant-Captains command Battlecruisers. Fleet Captains command Carriers. There’s nothing in between except desk jobs. Three, six years stuck in administration before I have a chance of commanding anything again.”

 “That’s crazy.”

 “I agree, but there isn’t much I can do about it, except hope that when the chips fall I’m still sitting in Alamo’s command chair. I can hope, but that’s about all I can do.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I’m going to need someone to command Brunel once I get the shipping lines set up.”

 He laughed, and said, “That would be a fantastic way to bring a Senate Oversight Committee down on both our heads. It’d look like I’d managed to arrange my own job.”

 “Think about it, anyway. As a back-up, if nothing else.”

 “No,” he replied. “The service is about the only home I’ve got now. I’ve been wearing a uniform since I turned seventeen, and I can’t see myself taking it off any time soon. It won’t be the first time I’ve suffered through a succession of terrible jobs.” Smiling, he said, “After the war, I spent a year decommissioning outposts. Five in a row, one after another. That was soul-destroying after a while.”

 “What happened to them?”

 “A couple of them were sold where there was some possibility of commercial use, the others were destroyed. I think one of them ended up being scrapped.”

 “Destroyed?”

 “No point asking for trouble and leaving them open. The UN made that mistake with an outpost on Nereid, once, back in the forties. Within a year it had become a home for every criminal enterprise outside the orbit of Saturn. They had to send two peacekeeper legions to clean it out.”

 “Sounds like a fun place to visit. We’ve got a few of those out here.”

 “I’ve been to Sinbad.” 

 “Tame compared to some out on the other borders. Everyone’s always been a bit wary out this far.”

 “Why?”

 “My great-uncle was a trade pioneer. It bankrupted him, but he did have some useful connections and a lot of fun stories out of those days. Hydra Station was commissioned partly as a base for explorations into the Outreach.”

 “The Outreach?”

 “The Cabal has always kept a task force in that region, long before they had any thought of heading towards Sol. There were disappearances, you see. About a dozen ships went in, but none of them came back. That’s what broke my great-uncle, he lost all of his investments. The last one was about forty years ago. Rumor was that the task force was there to see what was going on out there, but they never actually went.”

 “I didn’t know about this.”

 “Why should you? It’s old history, and embarrassing enough to all concerned that almost all the records were destroyed, or classified so high that almost no-one knew about it. If I hadn’t spent years listening to all the stories of strange alien hordes, I wouldn’t either.”

 “Is he still alive?”

 “No, died about fifteen years ago. Natural causes.” She paused, then said, “I miss him.”

 “It explains why no-one ever settled Driftwind, I suppose.”

 “That desert? No-one colonized that place because it isn’t worth colonizing. I’ve been there, remember. The only real reason anyone goes anywhere near Hydra is its proximity to the trade route to Spitfire Station, and even then, they might only get a few ships a year.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I still can’t quite believe that you were smuggling out of our territory before we even knew you existed.”

 “No-one ever asked any questions about incoming traders there. I know a couple of people who managed to get as far as Sol on faked papers. I guess the good times are coming to an end now, though.” 

 With a smile, he said, “Not that your experience of trading out there is going to be of any use to you at all.”

 “The problem’s in reverse, now. I’ll have trouble smuggling things back into the Cabal, not that I think I should be burdening a Triplanetary Captain with such a petty details.”

 “As long as you don’t break the law in Triplanetary space, I don’t care what you do out there. Though that’s another reason for us to win the battle; it’s the best chance we’ve got of normalizing relations.” 

 “There I thought you were the blood-and-guts war-at-any-cost sort of leader.”

 His face dropping, he replied, “I’ve seen too much blood and guts at far too little cost to think that way. Ask anyone who fought in the last war how eager they are to fight another one. We’ll go to battle if it is necessary, don’t get me wrong, but if we can prevent that from happening, we’ll take it.”

 “We’re back to the battle again, aren’t we.” She looked around the room, then back at Marshall, saying, “Give me the honest truth, Danny. What are our chances of getting through this in one piece?”

 “Fifty/fifty. The same as any battle. We’ll live or we’ll die, and there’s only so much we can do to break the odds in our favor. There’s nothing to say that someone on Dauntless won’t decide that we’re worth a few missiles, and a salvo would just about finish us off. We need to do enough damage to influence the outcome of the battle in our favor without making them break off their attack on Alamo.”

 “I was expecting a speech about how we were going to be triumphant, that I shouldn’t worry about the outcome of the battle and that everything would be alright.”

 “You wanted me to lie to you? What would be the point in that? We’re going into the middle of a battle zone with a freighter, and that’s not a safe place to be with a battlecruiser. I’ll be riding the helm all the way, and I think I still remember enough tricks to give us a fighting chance – and from what Cooper tells me, Cantrell is a dynamite hacker – but that’s the largest capital ship I’ve ever fought out there. I won’t dismiss it lightly.” He smiled, then said, “Though Alamo will give it a fight it will never forget. That much I will guarantee. I just wish…”

 “That you were commanding it yourself?”

 “Got it in one,” he replied, nodding. “Oh, there are three or four other people on board who are qualified to command, who would do a good job, but I should be at the heart of the battle. Instead of being stranded here.”

 “I could put you in a shuttle, you might be able to get across in time.” 

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ll be needed on the helm here, and by the time I could get to Alamo, all the key decisions would have been made. Those first five minutes are going to be critical for us.”

 “You’ve got it all mapped out in your head, haven’t you.”

 “Occupational hazard of the trade. The question is whether what I have in mind corresponds with what the enemy has in store for us.” Grimacing, he continued, “There are just so many damn unknowns. I don’t know how the repairs have gone on Alamo, I don’t know what the status of the orbital defense network is...I know more about the situation on Dauntless right now,” he said, gesturing at the datapad.

 “Tell me something. Are you going to learn any of that sitting in here, staring at those figures for the hundredth time?”

 “No, probably not.”

 “And will it give you some sort of astounding insight into the battle we’ll be fighting nine days from now?”

 “No.”

 “Then what’s the point of sitting in here and worrying about it?”

 Standing up, he smiled, and said, “None at all. Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you. If you stop worrying, so will I.”

 “Deal.”

 “Liar,” he said.

Chapter Nineteen

 The view of space around Driftwind was getting far too familiar to Orlova; she looked up at the holographic display, Nelyubov standing beside her. Ouroboros was out at the nearest hendecaspace point, exiled to picket duty by the Major; she shook her head as she calculated the probable survival time of the ship should anything significant appear. About all that Zebrova would be able to do would be to cut and run. An amber flash appeared nearby; one of the orbital defense satellites seemed to be drifting out of position.

 Tapping a control, she said, “You see that?”

 Nodding, he replied, “I’m getting the same from two others, as well. Damn, there must be something wrong with the mutual guidance system again. That’s the third time this week.”

 “Orlova to Quinn.”

 The engineer replied, “What’s up?”

 “Problem with the satellites. Can you take a look?”

 There was a brief delay before he replied, “I’m in those systems right now. Not showing any errors, everything is in the green.”

 “My board shows that they are drifting out of position, Jack.”

 “I don’t get it.” She could hear the sound of barking orders on the fringes of the microphone’s pickup range, then, “We’ll get to work on it. I’ll move them back into position manually for the moment.”

 “Right.” She tapped a control, then focused onto the planet again, looking at the scar where the nuclear explosion had taken place. “Nine days and we still can’t get close.”

 “That was a pretty damn dirty bomb,” Nelyubov replied. “Even in suits, it might be weeks. Besides, there won’t be anything left.”

 “I’m not so sure. That complex we saw was deep. Any progress on the writing?”

 With a smile, he said, “Carpenter’s been working non-stop from her bed since she regained consciousness. Still nothing, though. We just don’t have a big enough sample to work with. Maybe when we get back…”

 The communicator crackled again, and Orlova replied, “Astrogation here. Go ahead.”

 “Maggie, get down here,” Duquesne’s voice yelled. She could hear shouting in the pick-up, and she continued, “The Neander’s woken up.” The link went dead, and she looked up at Nelyubov.

 “Come on.” 

 They ran out of the room, pausing for only a moment to pull two pistols from one of the corridor units, and sprinted past a pack of technicians on their way to the elevator, the guns still in their hands. Orlova reached the elevator first, slamming the button to send it down towards sickbay, Nelyubov dodging through the doors just in time. She paused for a second, then pulled out her communicator. 

 “Orlova to Forrest. Any of your men on Alamo?”

 “No, Lieutenant,” he replied after a pause. “We’re all over here on the station. Want me to send someone?” 

 Nelyubov grimaced, and Orlova replied, “No point. It’ll be finished by the time you arrive. Better stay on stand-by, though, and get a shuttle ready for launch.”

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I wish I knew, Sergeant. Orlova out.”

 Nelyubov shook his head, “Curse of being short-handed. We should never have spread them around so far.” He looked down at his pistol and continued, “What the hell happened to the guard on the door?”

 “That’s what worries me. Better be ready.”

 The two of them stepped from the elevator, pistols out, and walked into sickbay to find Major Marshall standing over the Neander, the guard by his side, and Duquesne hovering in a corner, red-faced, her hands shielding a medical control panel.

 “Lieutenant, what are you doing here?”

 “The Doctor sent for me,” she replied, lowering her pistol. “I had the strong impression that there was something wrong.” The Neander was awake, and his eyes locked with hers. There was no anger or hatred, just terror. “What happened?”

 “This bastard is trying to get me to turn off the pain medication.”

 “Only so I can question him,” the Major said.

 “Don’t backpeddle, you son of a bitch. I’ve got you recorded.” Turning to Orlova, she said, “He thinks that the pain might convince him to talk.”

 Nelyubov looked away, and Orlova replied, “Is this true, Major?”

 “Damn it, Maggie, this is the only lead we have left. He tried to kill you, for God’s sake, and was probably involved in the deaths on the planet, as well as the attack on Carpenter. Before we can leave this station, we must find out what is going on, and I don’t have time to be nice or follow the rules.”

 “Follow the rules?” Duquesne said. “You want me to torture him!”

 “I’m giving you a direct order, Doctor. You will deactivate the pain relief of this patient immediately, and until I tell you otherwise, it stays off.” He looked down at the figure on the bed, who seemed to shrink back from him. “Maybe then he will be in the mood to talk. Maggie,” he said, glancing across, “This is nothing to do with you. Leave the room.”

 She shook her head, and the Major walked over to Duquesne, who was still standing resolutely in front of her controls.

 “I’ve given you an order. You will obey it.”

 Shaking her head, Duquesne replied, “Go to Hell. You’ll find an eager welcome there.”

 “Doctor, I won’t ask again.”

 Reaching around, she stabbed a button, and the controls went dark. A smug look on her face, she turned down to the Major, and replied, “I will not do it. And now, neither will you. I locked out the display.”

 “Damn it, this man is a would-be murderer…”

 “And he will have his day in court.”

 “I am your superior officer!”

 “I resign,” she said, folding her arms. “What are you going to do, get that grunt of yours to beat me up a few times until I do what you want? Is that how we do things now?” The Espatier imperceptibly shook his head, taking a step back from the situation; the Major pushed Duquesne out of the way, trying to reactivate the panel.

 “Unlock these controls.”

 “You do it.”

 He looked down at the Neander on the bed, crying as he lay there, not knowing what was going on, still in a haze of pain and medications, and started to shake his head. Staring him right in the eyes, he reached down to lean over him.

 “I don’t give a damn about you. No-one here does. You tried to kill one of my officers, and were involved in the deaths of two others. As far as I’m concerned, you should share their fate. That would only be fair. Tell me the names of your conspirators. Tell me who else is working for the Cabal, and all of this can end, right now.”

 The Neander shook his head as the others looked on, and the Major continued, “If you aren’t going to be of any use to me, if you aren’t going to tell me what you know to make up for what you have done, what you tried to do, then to hell with you.”

 In a quick move, the Major took a step back, snatched the pistol from the holster of the surprised Espatier, and pointed it square at the Neander, who recoiled from the gun, panting in terror, looking up at the others in the room.

 “Talk, damn it! Talk or I will have no choice but to shoot.”

 “Lieutenant, you can’t let him do this!” Duquesne yelled.

 “Sir,” Orlova said, “This isn’t going to help. You can’t do this.”

 “I’m in command here! Not you! Leave the room.”

 “Major, put down the weapon.”

 “He talks. Or I shoot. If you haven’t got the stomach for this, get out.”

 Time seemed to stand still for Orlova, every second a stretched-out eternity. Her head was pounding, and all she could seem to hear was her own heartbeat. In a textbook fashion, she reached down to her holster, pulled out her sidearm, and pointed it at the Major.

 “Put down your weapon, Major,” she said. He hadn’t noticed what she had done at first, and only belatedly did he see her pistol lodged in her hands, leveled on his chest. “Drop your weapon.”

 “Not what in the name of hell do you think you are doing, Lieutenant?” he said, calmly.

 “Maggie,” Frank said, standing by her side, looking between the two of them. “Is this…” 

 “Put the gun down, Major.”

 “Damn it, Maggie, he tried to kill you.”

 “And I put him in the hospital for that. I didn’t think we operated based on revenge. Nor can I simply stand here and watch you threaten a prisoner.”

 “Lieutenant, I could have you court-martialed for this.”

 Nodding, she said, “Fine by me. As long as you put the gun down, and this ends.”

 The Major turned to the Espatier, who shook his head, crossing his arms, and then to Nelyubov, who slowly began to pull his pistol out of his holster, his face a mask of misery as he drew it, raising it to generally cover the room.

 “I’m going to give you one more chance, Maggie. Leave the room, and report to your quarters until I come for you.”

 “With a gun in your hand? You’ve crossed the line, Major!”

 With a deep sigh, he began, “Lieutenant Orlova, you are…”

 Breaking in, she started to yell, “Under Fleet Regulations, Article Twenty-Nine, I hereby charge you with material violations of the Treaty of Pallas…”

 Continuing in the same, low voice, the Major said, “...are relieved of duty.”

 “...and I place you under arrest!” Orlova said.

 Looking at Nelyubov, the Major said, “Lieutenant Orlova has been relieved. Please escort her to her quarters.”

 “The Major has been charged with a violation of the war crimes statutes. You will escort him to the brig and place him under guard.”

 “Frank, get her out of here. That’s an order.”

 Nelyubov looked between the two of them, his pistol wavering in the air from side to side, then glanced down at the Neander, still lying barely conscious on the bed, obviously aware of what was taking place over him but unable to influence it.

 “What sort of a fleet do you want to serve in, Frank?” Orlova said, quietly.

 Looking at her, he replied, “This the hardest thing I have ever had to do, Maggie.” The Major briefly smiled, but it immediately dropped from his face as Nelyubov turned to point his gun at him. “If you will come with me, please, Major.”

 “I’ve known you for twelve years.”

 “That’s just made this more difficult. It doesn't change a thing.”

 Nodding, the Major replaced his gun in his holster and started to walk out of the room, pausing to stand next to Orlova for a moment, looking at her and shaking his head.

 “I thought, when it came to it, you’d do what was right,” he said.

 “I did,” she replied.

 He walked out of the room, Nelyubov behind him, and as soon as the door closed, Orlova crashed down to the deck, Duquesne racing to catch her, barely stopping her in time. She looked up at her, face pale.

 “Damn it, Doctor. Just...damn it.”

 “You did what you had to do.” Looking at the Neander, she continued, “I hope there aren’t any consequences for you.”

 “I just committed mutiny, Doctor.” Pulling herself together, she rose to her feet, and said, “My one consolation is that this nightmare will be over in a matter of minutes.” Turning to the Espatier, she said, “Private, you take your orders from Doctor Duquesne. No-one else is to be allowed anywhere near him, and you will remain here until relieved. Is that understood?”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 Nodding, Orlova walked out of the room, still dazed, and into the elevator. It whisked her up to the bridge, her head swimming as she tried to come to terms with what had just happened. She almost wished that Nelyubov had followed the Major’s orders, taken her back to her cabin. The doors opened, and she almost staggered onto the deck, Steele turning from her station as she approached.

 Looking around the room, she said, “All hands, attention. As of this time, this date, I have assumed command of this ship. Sub-Lieutenant, please enter this in the flight log.” All eyes were on her, and she continued, “Hopefully this will be only temporary. Weitzman, please get me Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, on Ouroboros. And contact the station, and tell Lieutenant Steele that the declaration of martial law is hereby rescinded.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the technician said, wide-eyed as he turned to his station.

 Steele walked over to her, asking, “What happened?”

 “I had to place the Major under arrest.”

 “You what?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “It’s a long story.” She looked around, then said, “Where’s Bradley? She’s supposed to be on watch.”

 “Over on the station.” Steele glanced up at the clock and said, “She should have been back ten minutes ago, though.”

 “I’ve got Ouroboros, ma’am,” Weitzman said, and Zebrova’s face flickered on the screen.

 “Maggie, what’s happened?” she asked.

 “Get back over here. I need you to assume command of Alamo. I just placed Major Marshall under arrest for violation of the Treaty of Pallas.”

 A gasp echoed around the bridge, and Zebrova nodded, saying, “We’ll be back in thirty minutes. We’d better hold the rest of this conversation privately.” She paused, then said, “I’m sure you did what you had to do.”

 “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel sick.”

 “Lieutenant,” Weitzman said. “I can’t get Lieutenant Steele, or anyone on board the station. No response on any channel.”

 “Try Sergeant Forrest.”

 “I did, ma’am. Private communications are out as well.”

 “Keep trying,” she said.

 “Ma’am,” Spinelli said. “I’m getting some strange…” He gasped, then said, “Dimensional instability, ma’am! Pretty big, as well! At the nearest hendecaspace point.”

 “All crew to alert stations,” she said. “Tell me the news, Spaceman.”

 Nodding, he replied, “One ship emerging, freighter-type by the look of it, but I don’t think that’s all we’ve got to expect. Much too small for the size of the instability.” With a frown, he said, “They’re moving pretty fast, as well. Full speed burn towards Ouroboros.”

 “We’re being hailed, ma’am.” Weitzman, turned, his face beaming, and continued, “It’s Captain Marshall!”

 Orlova closed her eyes for a moment, and felt a huge weight being lifted from her shoulders. “Tell Ouroboros, and open a channel.”

 The viewscreen flickered into an image of a freighter bridge, Marshall at the helm, Cantrell behind him and Cooper drifting at the rear. All three of them had made it; the crew were looking at them as though they had returned from the dead.

 “Lieutenant, I need to speak to the Major,” Marshall said.

 The weight came crushing back, and she said, “I’m in command here at the moment. Long story, sir.”

 “Then you get the hot seat for this one. We’re not on our own. There’s a Cabal battlecruiser right on our tails, bigger than anything we’ve seen before. Incoming in two and a half minutes, and they’ll be heading right for you.”

 “We could run,” Steele said, but Marshall shook his head, and said, “That’s not an option today. This is the big one, Maggie. We’ve got to stand and fight.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “We’d never get you or Ouroboros out in time anyway.”

 “System status?”

 “Alamo is just about ready for a battle, and our defense satellites are deployed, though we’re having a few teething troubles right now. I think we’re about as ready for a battle as we’re going to be.” 

 “Quinn will get them fixed. We’re going to be busy as hell now, Maggie, so I’ll just say this. Don’t take any risks unless you have to, but if you do – go for broke. Marshall out.”

 Orlova stood for a dozen seconds, trying to take in what had happened, and failing. At least now she had a job to do, a clear mission to accomplish, and compared to the uncertainties she had just suffered, taking on an enemy capital ship seemed almost easy by comparison.

 “Anything yet from the station?” she asked Weitzman. “They ought to think about evacuating down to the surface.”

 “Still nothing, ma’am.”

 Walking over to the empty tactical station, Orlova started flicking switches, frowning at the lack of response; the status board was even less helpful, and she pushed another control on the console.

 “Quinn, why can’t I take control of the defense network?”

 “I was just about to call up. As soon as we got the message from the Captain, we lost all controls, everything. Someone’s thrown a switch over on the station. They’re deactivating, moving out of their orbits.”

 “We need them back on.”

 “I know, I know! The weapons systems are still armed, we just don’t have any attitude control. Someone on the station is playing games with us!” 

 “Maybe the Major was right,” Steele said.

 “Ma’am,” Weitzman said, “I have Mr. Price for you, from the station.”

 “Good, put him on,” she said. “You having systems problems over there?”

 “No,” he replied. “I’m sorry about this. I really am.”

 Her face turned to cold steel, and she replied, “About what.”

 “I’ve got no choice but to take this station back from Triplanetary control, at least for the moment. We’ve taken over the satellites, and we’re going to have to keep them for a while. Your people will be returned.”

 “Returned? Damn it, there’s a battlecruiser heading this way, and…”

 “We will deploy the weaponry on the satellites to protect the station.”

 “Just not Alamo.”

 “I have my reasons. I’m not a traitor, but I’ve got to do what I can for my people.”

 “Lieutenant, without the orbital defense systems, the odds aren’t exactly in our favor,” Steele said, quietly.

 “We need to co-ordinate if we’re going to win! I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but it can wait until after the battle. Where is Bailey?”

 “She can’t talk to you right now. I wish you luck. Station out.”

 Nelyubov walked in, the elevator doors closing behind him, and he made his way over to Tactical, saying, “I heard that. Lieutenant, if the specifications we’ve got are accurate, that ship out-guns us considerably. We ought to consider pulling out.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Not with so many of our people scattered around the system. We’d never get them back in time. Captain Marshall has ordered us to stand and fight, and as far as I’m concerned, that is exactly what we are going to do.”

  Steele replied, “Without the orbital defence network, we don't have a chance. That ship will tear us to pieces.”

 “You've got the command, Maggie,” Nelyubov said. “What are your orders?”

 Calmly, she covered the distance back to the command chair in three steps, and settled down on it, every eye on the bridge looking for her to make the next move. Tapping a control, she poised herself for a second, then started to speak.

 “This is Lieutenant Orlova. All hands, report to battle stations. This is no drill.”

Chapter Twenty

 All was quiet and calm on the bridge of Brunel, the calm before the storm. Marshall sat at the helm, setting a steady course away from the hendecaspace point, heading over towards the still-silent Ouroboros, with Cantrell hovering around the communications station, ready to unleash her electronic weaponry on the enemy when it arrived. Tarrant was hovering by the engineering monitors, and Singh had been brought up to cover the sensors, his eyes locked on the countdown that was projected over his console, the estimated arrival time of the Dauntless. Cooper was at the back of the room, holding onto a handhold, slowly drifting back and forth, waiting for it all to begin.

 At the heart of it all, Newton sat in the command chair, and tried to watch every station. Marshall had been in her position more times that he cared to remember, and for a civilian freighter skipper, she seemed to be covering her fear rather well. For his part, it felt strange not to be sitting center seat for once, though actually having something to do during the battle would at least ease his tensions somewhat. He tried to focus on his job, rather than second-guessing what Orlova would be doing on Alamo.

 The temptation to try and command the ship remotely was almost impossible to resist, but he was managing thus far. There was too big a time lag for him to give the orders, and if Dauntless realized that he was commanding from Brunel, the freighter’s life expectancy was likely to be short. Why his father or Zebrova weren’t in command worried him still more. What had happened in his absence?

 “Forty seconds,” Singh said, looking up at his console.

 “We’re getting a message from the station, sir!” Cantrell said, looking at Marshall. “Direct tight-beam from Lieutenant Bailey, direct to you.”

 With a quick glance at Newton, he said, “Put her on.”

 Bailey appeared on the screen, blood running from a cut on her left cheek, the sounds of raging battle behind her, bullets cracking against hull metal, a scream from a wounded man. Cooper drifted forward, eyes wide.

 “I hadn’t expected the pleasure, sir. There’s a mutiny on the station, and we’ve been pushed back from Operations. The enemy have control of the defense satellites…”

 “Damn,” Marshall said.

 “Sergeant Forrest is leading an assault now. There’s a chance that we might be able to retake in the time, but I’m warning you to keep away from the station. Most of the docking ring is a war…”

 The screen died, and Marshall yelled, “Get it back!” to Cantrell.

 “Shut off at the source, sir,” she replied.

 “Captain…,” Cooper said, edging to the door.

 With a quick glance at Newton, who nodded, he said, “Go. Quickly. And watch yourself.”

 Cantrell looked incredulously as he pushed out of the room, diving for the elevator, and said, “What chance do you expect him to have out there?”

 “He’s doing what he needs to do. As are we all.”

 “Reinforcements heading from Alamo now, sir. A shuttle is on its way to the station,” Singh said.

 Looking down at her console, Cantrell said, “Message from the shuttle for you, Captain. Three words.”

 “What are they?”

 “I’m sorry, son.”

 His eyes widening, he leapt up from his station, and said, “Get me the shuttle, right now.”

 “Instability peaking!” Singh said. “The Dauntless is coming through!”

 “Get back to your station, Danny! We’re out of time,” Newton said.

 With a last, defiant look at the communications station, he complied, sliding back into his seat and tapping a sequence of controls to send the Brunel into a series of evasive maneuvers, a random walk pass with a bias to send them slewing towards the station. He looked up at the viewscreen, saw the Dauntless emerge with the usual blue flash, though this time almost close enough for him to touch.

 “We’re ordered to surrender,” Cantrell said. “I took the liberty of replying with the usual harsh language.”

 “Start your hack,” Newton said, but Cantrell’s hands were already racing across the keys, launching wave after wave of attacks on Dauntless’ systems, trying to find any possible loophole in their security, any way in.

 “Energy spike,” Singh said. “Two missiles, bearing directly, estimated time to impact one hundred seconds. They have missile lock.”

 “Cantrell,” Newton said, but she just waved a hand in the air for a second, continuing her work as if she hadn’t heard her. Marshall started manipulating the controls again, dragging the slow freighter into a series of tight turns that she wasn’t designed for, changing their trajectory in a desperate attempt to confuse the missiles. This ship didn’t even have the maneuverability of Alamo, still less the fighters he was used to.

 “Tarrant,” he said, “How much extra thrust can you give me?”

 “I can ramp up another ten percent for a couple of minutes, whenever you need.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Try a thousand percent.”

 His eyes widening, the engineer said, “You’ll burn out the engines.”

 Turning to face him, he said, “All I need is a half-second pulse, when I give the word.”

 Tarrant nodded, turned to a control station, and said, “I suppose we’re just as dead if the missiles hit. I’ll set up the overloads, slave them to your station, but we could blow out half the relays on the ship.”

 “Worth the risk,” he said, turning the Brunel to show the missiles its back, firing its engines as high as he dared, heading into infinity in a straight line. Newton’s eyes were boring into him, enough that he could feel it.

 “Aren’t you even going to try and evade?”

 “No,” he replied. “I need them to get a lot closer yet. Singh, give me a time on target.”

 “Fifty-nine seconds from my mark, now.”

 “Got it. Cantrell…”

 “They’ve got a thousand times the processing power. I’m busy. Just give me a few more minutes and I might manage something.”

 “Another spike!” Singh said. “Another missile, heading for Ouroboros. She is attempting to evade, turning in our direction.”

 “Why only three missiles?” Marshall asked no-one in particular. “They could have fired a full salvo, made sure of us.”

 “Maybe they want to disable us, rather than kill us?” Singh suggested. “Forty seconds.”

 The doors opened, and the Commandant walked in, stumbling slightly in the acceleration and said, “They don’t have combat fabricators. A Cabal warship is limited by the size of its missile inventory, and while I assure you that their reserves are significant, the commander of the Dauntless has evidently opted not to waste his missiles on minor targets.”

 “Twenty seconds,” Singh said.

 “Aren’t you going to do anything?” Newton said.

 “Not yet,” Marshall replied. “Trust me, I know what I am doing.”

 He rested his hands on the console, letting the missiles got closer, then as the override control appeared on his console, locked in the engine firing sequence. The seconds counted down, and the tension on the bridge grew; only Cantrell seemed to be immune, still frantically trying to hack into the Dauntless while keeping them out.

 “Impact!” Singh said, but a brief burst of acceleration threw them forward, less than half second to go, and Marshall pumped his fist into the air in triumph as the missiles disappeared from the screen.

 “No major problems, but give me a minute to run a few checks,” Tarrant said.

 “What the hell did you do?”

 “A trick an old friend of mine taught me,” Marshall said. “I pulsed the engines into overload, just as the missiles were about to hit. No way could they resist that.”

 “Next time tell me what you are planning to do,” Newton replied. “Singh, any more missiles?”

 “No, ma’am, and the Ouroboros seems to have knocked theirs down.”

 “I doubt there will be any more,” the Commandant said. “You were just a target of opportunity. He will now wait until he has dealt with Alamo before worrying about you.”

 “Why no fabricators?” Marshall asked. “You had Hercules for years…”

 “Having possession of a technology does not mean we can duplicate it, Captain. That little technological gap might be one of the reasons why certain elements of the Cabal are interested in a non-aggression pact.”

 Looking up from his console, Tarrant said, “This is all about getting a peace deal?”

 “Sometimes politics is the extension of war by other means, to misquote the great Clausewitz,” the Commandant replied.

 “Report, Cantrell,” Newton said. “Tell me good news.”

 “I just don’t have the bandwidth.” She slammed a fist against the panel, and said, “I might as well be throwing electronic snowballs at them!”

 A voice came over the speaker, Zebrova finally calling from Ouroboros. “Perhaps I can help. If we link our computers together…”

 “Anything is better than nothing at the moment,” Cantrell said. “We’re going to have to get a lot closer, as well.”

 “We’re already on course for Ouroboros,” Marshall began, but she shook her head. 

 “Closer to the Dauntless. I need to get the response time down as far as I can.”

 Marshall looked up at Newton, who nodded, and then started to input his new course, the plotted trajectory curving back down towards the enemy ship. Ouroboros was already swinging around in a long, lazy arc, and Marshall just had to follow their lead. The new course was going to take him right down Dauntless’ throat, amber warnings indicating he was violating safety regulations on minimum ship distances. At that range, they’d almost be in range of the point-defense particle beams. A single slip, and they’d be in trouble.

 Reading his mind, Newton moved over behind him, quietly asking, “Must it be that close?”

 “Any less, and we might be risking all of this for nothing. You’re the Captain. Your call.” 

 Looking down at him, she asked, “Do you know what you are doing?”

 “I’d like to think so,” he replied with a smile. “Ouroboros is closing. We’ve got to commit now if we’re going to.”

 She nodded, saying, “Commit.”

 Marshall tapped the control, and the ship slowly moved into its new trajectory, the acceleration building as it dived down towards the Dauntless, Ouroboros coming onto Brunel’s wing, two ungainly fighters making an electronic attack run on their target.

 “I’ve opened up a data link to Alamo. Anything we can get, they will get,” Cantrell said, flexing her fingers for a moment. “Computer connection with Ouroboros established.” 

 “Two minutes, ten seconds to closest approach,” Singh said.

 “Is it always like this?” Tarrant asked.

 “Usually worse,” Marshall replied. “Hours of waiting punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Welcome to the wonderful world of deep space warfare.”

 “You can keep it, thanks,” the engineer said. “I think I’ll stick to hauling cargo in future.”

 “No sign of activity from the Dauntless,” Singh said.

 “What do you think he will do?” Marshall asked the Commandant, still standing at the rear of the bridge, impassively looking at the viewscreen.

 Shrugging, he said, “Far be it from me to speak for them, my guess is that he will assume you are trying to force him into a course change. You will be hard-pressed to hack into the Dauntless’ systems.”

 Cantrell’s eyes widened, and she looked up at the Commandant, yelling, “What did you say?”

 He recoiled for a moment, then said, “I commented that you will find it difficult to hack into their systems.”

 “Not their systems,” she said. “Not those of the Dauntless. But those aren’t the only systems on board.” Her hands began to fly, and she said, “We don’t need to hack them at all!”

 “Then why are we diving for them?” Newton asked. “Danny, start a course change.”

 “No, wait,” Cantrell said. “I’m hunting for combat data, and I’ll get a lot of it from their missiles. Much smaller, much less processing power.” Her hands were flying across the controls so fast that Marshall could hardly see what she was doing, and he began to nod.

 “You’ll have to isolate them from the rest of the ship.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Just one. They might not notice that until it is too late. I need to keep the pressure on their sysop in their primary systems, keep him distracted.” She flashed a roguish smile, and said, “I think we’re going to get them yet!”

  Marshall looked back at his console, watching the Dauntless for any course change, working out possible alternate flight paths, and trying to trim their heading after their maneuver. Cooper’s shuttle was well on its way to the station, he noted with a smile. He was probably more likely to live through this than any of them, though he was charging into combat, not away from it.

 “We’re getting awfully close to those particle beams,” Singh said.

 “Brace yourself, we’re going to get closer yet,” Marshall said. “Watch for missiles. Cantrell, remember that if they know we’ve done this, it isn’t going to work.”

 “I know, I know. With luck they’ll just think they’ve got a dud.”

 “Fifty seconds to closest approach,” Singh said.

 “We’re in!” Cantrell yelled. “I’m getting the data now, streaming it all the way to Alamo.”

 “What are you collecting?” Newton said.

 “Combat tactics,” the Commandant replied. “All the information the missile has been programmed to use, right down to the preferences of the Weapons Officer. Alamo should be able to use that the even the odds a little, at least for a time.”

 “They’ll be knocking down those missiles like dummy targets,” she said. “Closing down now. We’ve got everything we need. I’m still butting heads with their sysop, just to make it look good.”

 Nodding, Newton said, “May we leave now?”

 “Changing course,” Marshall said, pulling the trajectory up and away from the Dauntless. Right now they were on a course that would take them out of the system altogether, but they could fix that later, at their leisure.”

 “Closest point now in five seconds,” Singh said, and then he turned to sharply look at Newton, “Energy spike. Missile launch. Impact thirty seconds.”

 “Cantrell, get those countermeasures moving, stop that missile,” Newton said.

 “Belay that,” Marshall replied. “If we use it now, we’ll be showing our hand, and all of this will be for nothing. We’ve got to give Alamo its shot!”

 Tarrant raced forward, grabbing Marshall by the shoulders, and said, “You’d trade this ship for yours, wouldn’t you! We’re just expendable!”

 Looking back at him, he replied, “Don’t be stupid. One missile will damage us, not destroy us. Alamo can use this data to knock down a couple of dozen and win the battle! Getting rid of that won’t save us if Alamo gets wiped out.”

 Cantrell nodded, and said, “We need Alamo to win.”

 Tarrant looked at Newton, who glanced at Marshall’s face, locking eyes, before nodding, and saying, “Danny, take all evasive action to get away from that missile. I assume the trick you tried before won’t work.”

 “Impact ten seconds.”

 “No time to set it up,” Tarrant said, dejectedly.

 “Then we’ll just have to ride it out.” Stabbing a button, she said, “All hands, brace for impact! Aft decks!”

 Marshall tried a few maneuvers, but everyone on the bridge knew that it wasn’t going to work, that it was impossible for them to prevent the impact. Tarrant was back at his station, ready to deploy damage control parties where he could, and everyone braced themselves for the shock.

 The missile ripped into the rear part of the forward sphere, tearing into the hull before exploding, gouging a huge hole that immediately sent the ship tumbling. Lights and console displays briefly flickered as the power distribution network struggled to cope, the ship tumbling as Marshall lost attitude control; the course projection was now a flickering corkscrew, and he shut down the engine, trying to maintain some stability as the ship tumbled.

 He could hear the stresses on the hull, the deck plating tearing away from the stresses of the impact, a sea of burning red leaping across the status boards as one system after another failed. Finally, the lights came back on, and some of the systems came back into life.

 “Status, Tarrant,” Newton said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Three decks are depressurized, we’ve on backup power, engine control systems are out, and our external communications are shot. Aside from that, we’re in great shape.”

 “No casualties reported, though,” Singh said. “They hit unpopulated parts of the ship.”

 “That was a warning shot?” Newton asked.

 Nodding, the Commandant said, “He’s telling you and Ouroboros to stay out of the fight.”

 Sitting back in her chair, Newton said to Marshall, “Well, my ship’s been torn to pieces, Danny. I hope it was worth it.”

 Looking up at the display, watching the Dauntless turn for its confrontation with Alamo, he replied, “So do I.”

Chapter Twenty-One

 The shuttle raced towards the station, the autopilot frantically struggling to correct its course, Alamo feeding new navigation to it as rapidly as it could. Behind, Cooper could see Brunel tumbling end over end, telemetry reporting massive damage. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could have done, back on that ship, but up ahead there was a battle in progress, and there his skills would be needed.

 He looked at his borrowed rifle, checking it over one last time, as the shuttle smoothly glided into position besides the one ahead of him, the one that had come directly from Alamo, docking just a couple of minutes before. Letting the computer do all of the work, he stepped over to the airlock, trusting that the automatic systems would do their job, and hoping that whoever was controlling the station couldn’t do anything to stop him.

 The docking clamps locked into position with a series of rhythmic thumps, and with his rifle raised, he opened the hatch. It took all his training not to fire at the oddly familiar figure standing at the threshold, and shaking his head, he lowered his weapon.

 “Damn it, Major, that is not a good idea.”

 Raising his hand, Major Marshall replied, “Didn’t think it through. I’ve been having that trouble a lot lately. It’s Cooper, isn’t it?”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, snapping a salute. “Do you know the situation?”

 “Only that the station has been captured and that we need to retake control of it in a hurry.” He gestured up the corridor, and said, “Tell me, how’s my son?”

 “Fine last I saw him, sir. I understand there weren’t any casualties from the missile hit.”

 “Good, good,” he said, “Let’s get moving, then.”

 The two of them walked cautiously down the corridor towards the elevator, Cooper looking around, checking for potential cover. Just as they approached the doors, they slid open and a pair of Neander stepped out, pistols in their hands; Cooper’s instincts were still sharp, and two rapid shots brought them down before they even knew what had hit them.

 Kneeling on the ground, he quickly checked their vital signs; one of them was dead, the other wounded, faint cries resounding down the corridor. He looked up at the Major, who was standing in the corridor, gun still pointed, looking down at the two bodies.

 “He’s in pain but will live if we get this mopped up quickly, sir. Could you pass me down the medikit from the wall?” The Major just stood there, watching. “Sir?”

 Nodding, he reached over and tossed it down to Cooper, who ripped out a tranquilizer and quickly injected it into what he hoped was the right spot; the Neander relaxed, the painkillers moving through his system. Quickly slapping a bandage on the wound, he stood up.

 “I guess we know who we’re fighting, sir,” Cooper said.

 Looking at the body, the Major replied, “I could have done that.” He looked up at Cooper, and said, “I’m just a stupid, old fool who can’t stop fighting his war.”

 Frowning, Cooper replied, “We need to keep moving, sir. Last report had our troops holed up by the central core. If we can hit the enemy from the other side, we might have a chance of breaking them out.” 

 “Yes, yes,” he said. “Let’s go, Corporal. You take the lead.”

 Punching for the lower level, they waited for the elevator make its way to the loading decks. Helping the Neander had cost them time, but he couldn’t just leave a wounded man lying there. He glanced across at the Major, who was staring at the doors, waiting for them to open, and wondered what was passing through his mind. His communicator chirped, and he pulled it to his ear.

 “Cooper here.”

 “Orlova here, Corporal. Is the Major with you?”

 “Give that to me, Corporal,” he said, taking it from him. “It’s me, Lieutenant. Don’t blame Nelyubov; I had an override to my quarters lock. I can’t do anything on Alamo now that you can’t, so I’m going to be useful. I will turn myself in when this situation is over, but right now I think they need another gunman over here.”

 There was a pause, and Orlova said, “I’m sorry it ended up the way it did.”

 His voice turning gruff, he said, “To hell with all of the apologetic crap. You did what you had to do, and don’t start second-guessing yourself. You’ve got a battle to win. We’ll do our part over here, you just get Alamo ready for the fight. I'll handle things over here. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

 “Yes, sir. Good luck.”

 “To both of us. Marshall out.” He passed the communicator back to the baffled Cooper, and said, “I’m sure you’ll hear all the gruesome details later. Suffice to say I let my temper get the best of me.” He took a deep breath, and said, “As far as I’m concerned, I’m just another trooper on this mission. Is that understood?”

 There was a desperate, almost pleading look in his eyes, and Cooper nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood.” The elevator pinged, and Cooper tapped a button to hold the doors closed. “All manner of hell will be waiting for us on the other side. As soon as it opens, we go out shooting, but watch your shots. Make sure you are going for a bad guy. If in doubt, leave them – we’re reinforcing, so the others will cover the ones we miss. Got it, sir?”

 “Got it.”

 “On three. Two. One. Now.”

 He released the button and the door slid open; racing out towards the nearest cover, he quickly surveyed the situation. About a dozen Alamo crewmen, Sergeant Forrest at their head, were being pinned down by six Neander in carefully chosen positions, though they were wide open to a rear assault. With a battle yell, he charged forward and fired, taking one of the Neander in the back.

 “My God, Cooper!” Forrest yelled. “Take them down!”

 Bullets cracked all around him as he dived for cover, the Major just behind him; he fired a series of shots, forcing the besiegers out into the open, where they were vulnerable to attack. Within a few seconds, it was all over, the last two Neander sprinting down the corridor, firing shots after them to deter any pursuit. Forrest walked over to him, shaking his head. Beside him, Barbara was running, her arms outstretched, and Cooper ran to her, taking her into his arms. Abruptly, she slapped him on the face, before kissing him.

 “Damn it, Gabe, I thought you were dead.”

 “Shot in the back,” Forrest said. “How the hell…”

 “Cantrell managed to get me out,” he replied. “It’s a long story.”

 “You can spend all the time you want telling me now,” she said, holding him close.

 “Later,” Forrest said. “We’ve still got a battle to fight, and we’re down on time. If we don’t get to Station Operations, then the whole show is over.”

 Nodding, Cooper replied, “We’d better do it the old-fashioned way. Is this everyone?”

 “Lieutenant Bailey split off with half a dozen others, heading down towards the maintenance decks. We were caught by complete surprise, had to get out as quickly as we could.” He gestured back at the group, then saluted the Major, “What do you want to do, sir?”

 “Defer to your judgment, Sergeant.” 

 Not missing a beat, he said, “Then we only take the Espatiers here, and the rest clean up the mess and follow at a safe distance.”

 “Good. Let’s get going, then,” the Major said.

 Forrest glanced at Cooper, then back at the Major, “As you say, sir.” He waved a hand, and the four Espatiers with the group made their way forward, assembling into a loose formation. Barbara joined at the rear, looking at Cooper.

 “I’m going too. Non-optional.”

 Cooper smiled, and nodded, saying, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Let’s move out.”

 The group moved forward, Cooper taking point by universal consensus, heading down the corridor taken by the fleeing Neander. They had to proceed carefully, but time was of the essence, so he regretfully moved past unopened doors, only quickly glancing down side corridors. If they were leaving pockets of resistance behind them, then they could mop them out at their leisure; there was only so much damage two people could do. Forrest was hanging at the back, watching for an ambush.

 He looked around his squad, the familiar faces providing him comfort, smiles all around. This is what he had dreamed of, another mission with his comrades, and no matter what the reason, somehow he was happy to be here. Something moved in the shadows up ahead, and he fired on instinct, a bullet smashing into the wall; a Neander stepped out, her hands raised.

 “Don’t shoot. I’m with you.”

 The Major shook his head, and said, “How can we trust you?”

 “I saw you long before you saw me. I could have taken out two of three of you at limited risk, but I didn’t. There are four others up ahead, and we’ll help you.” She looked at Cooper, and said, “Don’t you recognize me?”

 “Ixia,” he said, nodding. “What the hell is going on?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “All we know is that Price has gone mad, locked himself in Operations, and tried to shut us up below decks. There’s a battlecruiser out there, and if we can’t talk it out,” she sighed, then said, “I guess you’ll have to shoot it down. We’d rather fight with you than be enslaved again.”

 The Major shook his head, saying, “I should have locked him up when I had the chance.”

Frowning, Ixia replied, “You helped cause all this in the first place. If you’d listened instead of just locking people up and stationing troops everywhere…”

 Cooper, stepping between them, interrupted, “I don’t think we have time for a debate right now.  What have you got, Ixia?”

 “Zardok and three others are waiting at the crossroads, hiding inside the storage room for this level. We weren’t sure what side you were on.”

 There was a crackle from Forrest’s communicator, and he placed it by his ear, “Go head.”

 “Bailey here. We’re trying to retake Operations but they’ve got us pinned down. Can you help?”

 “We’ll be up there in a few minutes. Hold them as long as you can.” He looked at Ixia, and said, “To hell with it, I’ve got a lot of invitations left to this party. Let’s get moving.”

 Nodding, she raced ahead, and the group started to jog down the corridor. A door on the side opened, and four Neander warily stepped out, guns ready but not pointed at anyone, as though prepared to face an ambush at any moment. Cooper nodded as he moved past them, heading for the hatch at the end of the corridor, leading to the maintenance shaft. He gestured to the elevator as he passed.

 “Three in the elevator, the rest of us up the shaft. We’ll take them by surprise.”

 “Good idea, Cooper,” Forrest said pointedly; he blushed, having forgotten for a moment that he wasn’t giving the orders. “I’ll take the decoy group, you take the rest. Cartwright, Ramirez, with me.”

 He stepped into the elevator, Cooper smiling as he led the rest of the team to the shaft. The door opened at a button press, evidence that whoever was controlling the station had other problems than rogue troops running around in their rear. He stepped onto the ladder and began to climb, the rest following him up. He’d taken the lead, the riskiest position, without even thinking about it, then belatedly realized that he didn’t even know where he was going.

 “How many more levels?” he said to the next person on the line.

 The Major laughed, and replied, “Three more, Corporal. That’ll take you to the branch corridor just outside Operations. From there it should be a short run.”

 “Not that it’ll be that easy, of course,” Zardok grunted.

 Cooper easily covered the distance, climbing hand over hand, having to wait a little for the others below him, a little slower, his rifle bouncing against his back on its strap. Somewhere up above, Forrest had begun his diversion, hopefully drawing the rest away and giving them a chance to assemble. They would be at their most vulnerable for the first few seconds, until they had established a proper beachhead up above.

 He reached the level, and paused for a second, taking deep breaths to calm himself down, reduce his heart rate. Pulling his gun over his shoulder with one hand, he dangled from the ladder with the other, and looked down at his team.

 “We’re going now. Head up, get into cover, wait for my move. Fire discipline, mark your shots. There’s stuff up here we can’t afford to break. Don’t shoot unless you know what you are shooting at and you are sure there’s a bad guy at the end of your sights.” Looking up at the hatch, he said, “Now, now, now!”

 Diving through into the corridor, he executed a shoulder roll, ducking to the left behind an opened access port as the crack of gunfire echoed around him. Over to the right, he could hear cursing from the elevator shaft, Forrest’s diversion evidently not as effective as either of them had thought. The rest of his squad started to pile out, the Major diving around the side of the corridor, Zardok following, firing a pair of shots ahead to try and pin down any opposition.

 “Stay back,” Cooper yelled. “Stay in the shaft!” He looked around, trying to find the enemy; he saw a hand waving from an open door in the corridor, likely Bailey and her group pinned down. An improvised barricade had been set up in front of the entrance to the Operations room, manned by five technicians, only two of them Neander. It was a perfect kill zone, fifty yards of corridor that would give them plenty of time to gun anyone down who was approaching. Even if he had any grenades, he wouldn’t have dared to use them, not in this confined space.

 One man, running down the corridor, wouldn’t have any chance at all, but he would draw out the enemy enough to give the rest of them a chance to follow him in. He tensed himself, getting ready to make the run. Given time, they could simply sit and wait for the defenders to run out of ammunition, but they just didn’t have that time. There was no choice. Alamo had to regain control of the defense satellites, or the battle would be lost

 Before he could move, he heard a yell from his side, and watched the Major sprinting down the corridor, not even carrying his gun. Automatically, Cooper raised his rifle to give him covering fire, raining down bullets around the enemies, taking one down as he popped out to take a shot. Zardok took another one down, and Cooper climbed out from his cover, spending ammunition like water as he advanced.

 “Get moving!” Cooper yelled, and the others began to advance, Bailey’s force spilling out into the corridor behind him.

 For a moment, he thought the Major was actually going to make it, but twenty meters short of his target, he collapsed to the ground, blood spilling from a wound in his neck. Even if there had been a full trauma team next to him, there was no chance at all. His sacrifice was not going to be in vain; Cooper was at the barricade in another moment, leaping behind it swinging his rifle like a club, taking a startled Neander down while Zardok fired wildly around him, ignoring his advice yet still managing to miss him.

 The people around him had fallen, and he had a clear line of sight into the Operations room. There had been no attempt at preparing defenses inside, just a few technicians sitting at consoles, watched over by a dejected Price. Cooper took a step forward, covering the room with his rifle, and the remaining rebels looked at each other as the rest of his force approached.

 “That’s it,” Price said from inside. “We surrender.”

 Cooper looked at Price, sitting by one of the consoles, and for a second was tempted to take a shot. Bailey glared at him, then moved toward the controls, her team following her in, while Cooper moved back to look at the Major, lying dead on the deck. There was a smile on his face, his hand reaching for Operations, his eyes wide. He knelt down by him, looking at him, and then felt a cool hand on his neck.

 “I don’t understand,” he said. “He didn’t even take his gun.”

 “I guess he knew what he had to do,” Barbara said, looking down at him.

 Looking up at her, he said, “He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. It was as if...as if he wanted the bullet.” Shaking his head, he said, “I just don’t understand. I hope I never do.” He reached down, and closed the Major’s eyes with the palm of his hand.

 “We’ve done it!” Bailey’s voice yelled. “The satellites are coming back under our control. I’m through to Alamo!”

 “We won,” Barbara said. Cooper looked down at the Major, lying serenely on the deck.

 “Yeah,” he replied. “We won.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Now we just need Alamo to make it three for three, and we can all go home.”

 “Home,” she said, murmuring.

 Pulling himself to his feet, Cooper looked over at her, covered in dust and dirt from the shaft, one of her sleeves torn down the side. She frowned, looking down at herself.

 “Something wrong?”

 “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

 “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she replied.

 “I hope so. Back on that long cruise home, I had plenty of time to think, probably too much once we’d got clear, and I came to a decision. That if somehow we got through all this, I was going to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

 “Good,” she replied. “I’m glad someone talked some sense into you. Saved me the trouble.”

 With a smile, he said, “You went through hell for me…”

 “And you put me through hell. I thought you were dead.”

 “We’re both in a dangerous profession, and I’m going to fight like hell to stop that changing. We picked the life…”

 Shaking her head, she said, “What are you babbling about?”

 Forrest walked over, slapped him on the back, and said, “Out with it, Corporal. Or do I have to make it an order?” He winked, obviously having guessed what was about to happen.”

 Looking over at him, then back at Barbara, he said, “What I guess I’m trying to say, at the worst time and place, is that...hell, will you marry me?”

 Her mouth dropped, and for a moment, the bottom fell out of Cooper’s world, the corridor seeming to blur around him. Then she smiled, walked up to him, nodded, and held him. And for a time, at least, everything was just fine.

Chapter Twenty-Two

 Orlova sat on the bridge, watching and waiting, trying to remain as outwardly calm as she could, not showing the fear that was eating away at her soul. The bridge crew were working at their stations, tracking the Dauntless coming in, Weitzman trying to get answers from the station, from Brunel, from anyone, and having little luck, Nelyubov furiously updating the countermeasure systems with the information Captain Marshall had sent, trying to give them a little edge.

 Still, inexorably, the Dauntless advanced towards Alamo, taking a course that would almost skim the atmosphere in its hurry to attack them, the sensors updating from second-to-second as new information came in. On either side, Alamo’s kilometer-long laser reflectors fluttered, ready to disperse the heat from her primary weapon into space, shining in the light of the dull red sun at the heart of the system.

 “We’re ready for action,” Nelyubov said. “All decks cleared for battle, missile tubes loaded, laser ready, countermeasures primed.”

 “Very good, Lieutenant,” she said. “Weitzman, any word from the station?”

 “Not a thing, ma’am,” he said. “I’m getting a bit of...wait a minute…,” he smiled, then said, “I have Lieutenant Bailey on tight-beam, ma’am, for you. Audio only.”

 Permitting herself a brief sigh of relief, Orlova said, “Put her on.”

 Straining to make herself heard through the crackle of space, Bailey said, “We’ve secured the station. One dead, Major Marshall.”

 Orlova closed her eyes, straining to focus, and replied, “Does anyone else know about this yet? The rest of the station?”

 “Negative. Mr. Price hasn’t been very co-operative. I think he’s stalling for time.”

 “Do you control the satellites?”

 “I have them back under control from here, yes. I’m ready to transfer them over to Alamo.”

 “Don’t.”

 “What?” Steele said. “We need those satellites if we’re going to have any chance.”

 Turning to the duty officer, Orlova said, “Right now the enemy thinks they are just tumbling through space. How long to get them ready to fire?”

 “Forty seconds.”

 “Good enough.” Pulling her microphone back on, she continued, “Bailey, I want you to do nothing at all with those satellites. When they get in range of the Dauntless, power them up and give them everything you’ve got. Is that clear?”

 “Alamo…”

 “Never mind about Alamo,” she shouted. “Is that clear?”

 “Yes, ma’am. Hydra out.”

 Looking at Nelyubov, she said, “Even with those satellites, we’d lose a toe-to-toe battle with that bastard. We’re going to have to lure him in, bring him into position for a salvo.” With a smile, she said, “He still thinks he has the advantage. No need to disillusion him.”

 “That’s risky as hell,” he replied. “We could take a terrible pounding getting them into range.”

 “Steele,” Orlova said, “I want a vector that looks as if we are running, that will get us in the firing arcs of at least two of those satellites. Three would be better.”

 “Not asking much, are you,” she replied, working at her console. “I can’t do it without giving us more exposure to the Dauntless.”

 “I’m aware of that,” she said. “Time to firing range?” 

 “Two minutes, three seconds,” Spinelli said. “Optimum firing range for the satellites will be seventy-nine seconds after that.”

 “We could go turtle, pure defensive,” Nelyubov said.

 “Not without giving away our plan. They’ll be expecting us to put up a hell of a fight. Let’s not disappoint them.” She looked at the headset in her hand, then looked up to Weitzman. “I suppose I’d better get this out of the way before the battle. Connect me up to the ship.”

 With a smile, he replied, “Already done, ma’am. I’m getting used to this dance.”

 Carefully placing the headset in position, she said, “This is Lieutenant Orlova. In about two minutes, we’re going to be taking on the enemy one more time. This is the last throw of the dice for the Cabal, the last chance they’ve got to stop us getting home. I’m not going to lie. Their ship is bigger than us, better armed, better armored, but I know that we’ve got a better crew, better trained, better prepared, ready for the fight. They might have a stronger hand than we do, but while we’ve got a card in our hand, we’re still in the game. All we have to do is win, and I know we will. Bridge out.”

 The doors slid open, and Caine stepped out, saying, “Danny should hire you as his speech-writer.”

 Turning, Orlova said, “Lieutenant…”

 Raising a hand, Caine said, “I thought you might need an extra hand on the bridge.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Frank, go over to the helm. Tactical is all yours, Lieutenant.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Nelyubov said, moving over next to Steele as she unslaved the helm systems from her console. Caine sat down in the vacated spot, running her fingers over the controls, and started to furiously enter commands, lights flashing from red to green as she readied systems. Orlova smiled, then turned back to the viewscreen.

 “One minute to firing range,” Spinelli said. “I hate this part.”

 “You that eager, Spaceman?” Orlova replied. “Damage control status?”

 “All ready,” Prentis said. “Message from Lieutenant Quinn. He asks that you please try not to undo everything he’s done in the last two months, or he’ll send you the bill.”

 A short burst of laughter echoed around the bridge, and Orlova replied, “My compliments to our Systems Officer, and tell him I’ll try not to get the paint scratched.”

 “Forty seconds to firing range.”

 “All missiles ready in the tube, salvo fire on your command.”

 “Fire as soon as you get a target. Laser as well, one shot, then save the second for a combination shot with the satellites. Try and coordinate with Bailey.”

 “On it,” Caine replied. “I should be able to knock down their first wave of incoming missiles, after that we’re in the lap of the gods.”

 “Evasive maneuvers are ready,” Nelyubov said, looking up at the screen. “I can give you a shot as soon as they get into range, Lieutenant.”

 “I’ll take it,” Caine said. “Set it for plus-one second. Let’s see if we can make a mess.”

 “Ten seconds,” Spinelli said, audibly holding his breath. Most of the bridge crew were watching the clock countdown, waiting for the battle to begin. Orlova sat in the heart of it all, looking around, nervous as hell. This wasn’t her first fight, not even her first battle in command, though last time, she was going in expecting not to come out. This time was different. She wanted to win, and she wanted to be able to hand this ship back to Captain Marshall in one piece, mission accomplished.

 “Now!” Spinelli said, and Nelyubov arced the ship around, playing the thrusters to point it at the incoming battlecruiser. Caine timed the laser pulse down to the microsecond, and a beam of light briefly connected the two ships, ripping a gash down the side of the enemy vessel, an angry red scar that leaked white gas into space, atmosphere spilling out of breached compartments.

 “Energy spike,” Spinelli said.

 “Now, Deadeye!” Orlova yelled, and with the tap of a control, the missiles died in their tubes, two of them exploding, tearing the launchers apart. The rest simply fell out into space, tumbling around, inert debris of the battle. Alamo rocked briefly, six trails moving out towards the Dauntless.

 “Our salvo is out, Lieutenant,” Caine said.

 “Going well so far,” Steele replied, but within a few seconds, Spinelli was shaking his head.

 “Energy spikes, nine missiles on incoming trajectory,” he said. “That was damn fast work.”

 “Knock them down,” Orlova said, but Caine frowned, furiously typing commands into her console with little result.

 “Didn’t work. They must have an alternate command network, something like that. I’ve got to start from scratch. Second salvo coming into the tubes now.”

 “Fire them when you can. Spinelli, time to satellite firing?”

 “Estimate fifty-one seconds, ma’am.”

 Time was crawling past as Orlova sat in the command chair, looking around at the frantically working technicians, all except Prentis, who briefly caught her eye and smiled. Until something happened to Alamo, he was going to have a very boring battle. Just sitting and watching, like Orlova. Caine, Steele and Nelyubov were working together like a well-oiled machine, operating Alamo’s systems and unleashing maximum damage to the enemy. The tactical decisions had been made, and all she could do now was let them play out.

 “Three of the missiles knocked down, the rest still bearing directly. Projected impact in thirty-one seconds,” Spinelli said. “Satellites deploying, ma’am! “Change in target aspect from the Dauntless, turning away!”

 Alamo rocked again, and Caine said, “Second salvo running. First salvo impact in nine seconds, two still on target.”

 Orlova smiled as she saw the two tracks slam into the Dauntless, catching it amidships. Alamo had taken a lot more damage and carried on moving, but the course plot made it clear that the enemy vessel wasn’t going to be able to escape the trap she had set.

 “Four more missiles knocked out,” Spinelli reported. “Just two to go, impact in four seconds!”

 “Got another!” Caine yelled, before the ship was rocked by the last enemy warhead. Prentis began to furiously work his controls, trying to muster a damage report. He looked across at Orlova and nodded; she turned her attention back to the battle.

 “I want all lasers to hit the same target on the Dauntless. Carve it up like a roast,” she said.

 “Helm, I’m going to need a target lock in thirty-one seconds. No need to cover it, they’ll know its coming,” Caine said.”

 “Energy spike, third salvo incoming! Twelve missiles inbound in total now!” Spinelli said.

 “Damage report from the first strike,” Prentis said. “Minor damage to aft thruster control systems. No decrease of combat effectiveness.” 

 “Nineteen seconds to firing,” Caine said. “I can use our third salvo to knock out most of theirs. Nice tight approach pattern.”

 “Do it,” Orlova replied, leaning forward in her chair to watch the view. She could almost picture herself on the bridge of the Dauntless, desperately trying to pull themselves away, to get out of the range of the laser cannons that inexorably turned onto their course track. Her engines were firing in a desperate move to change their orbit, all their attention focused on escape.

 “Two seconds,” Caine said with finality. “One. Now.”

 In two different control rooms, a hand pushed a button and lasers fired. Four beams of light collided with the Dauntless, hitting it amidships, close to the engine section, white-hot lines tearing down the sides of the hull, ripping apart the deck plating, smashing into the superstructure, clouds of escaping atmosphere briefly obscuring the view.

 When it cleared, Orlova’s eyes widened; the stress of the engines at full thrust combined with the damage from the four cannons had torn the ship in half, both pieces tumbling end over end as escape pods poured out of the craft, heading down to the surface, a cloud of debris spilling out of a thousand fractures. Another eight explosions wracked the hull, Alamo’s second salvo gouging more craters out of what was left of the craft.

 Caine looked up, pale, and said, “Incoming missiles are gone, Lieutenant. Laser recharging.”

 “Take your time,” Orlova said.

 Gulping, Spinelli reported, “That was at the worst possible moment for them. Both pieces will enter the atmosphere within the hour. I can’t see any other outcome than total destruction.”

 “Can we launch rescue parties?” 

 “I’m not getting anything from the hulk, not even automatic distress,” Weitzman said.

 “There’s a hell of a lot of debris out there, shrapnel floating around,” Caine added. “I wouldn’t rate the longevity of a shuttle very highly out in all that.”

 “We ought to alter our orbit,” Nelyubov said, working controls. “Driftwind’s going to have a very temporary ring system for a few hours.”

 “I have a signal from Brunel, ma’am,” Weitzman said. “Captain Marshall, for you.”

 “Put him on,” she said.

 “Lieutenant, I saw most of that,” Marshall’s voice crackled. “Damn good work.”

 “Lieutenant Bailey deserves more of the credit, sir. They were able to retake the station. Captain, I must…”

 “I know,” he said, calmly. “She told me. Ouroboros managed to get a shuttle over to us; Senior Lieutenant Zebrova and I will be back on board Alamo in half an hour.”

 “We’ll be waiting for you,” Orlova said. “I just wish I had some idea why all of this had happened.”

 The elevator door slid open, Carpenter standing in the threshold. She stepped forward, looking at the remains of the Dauntless still on the screen, and then at Orlova.

 “I think I can answer that question. Corporal Cooper sent me some interesting data from the Brunel’s passage here. If you have Captain Marshall head down to the dig site on the planet, I’ll tell you what I think happened.”

 Orlova nodded, stepped down from the command chair, and said, “Steele, have a shuttle ready…”

 “Better get Bailey to send down Price and Cooper as well, and some of the Neander. They need to know about this as well.”

 “Very well,” she said. “Fr...I mean, Lieutenant Caine, you have the bridge.”

 Caine stood up, nodding, “I have the bridge.”

 As they walked to the elevator, Orlova asked, “What’s all this about, Susan?”

 “You wanted an answer. I’ve got one. Now it’s up to the Captain to decide what to do with it.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

 The shuttle coasted down over the desert, skimming over a low mountain range and long-drained river beds towards its destination. Marshall’s attention was anywhere other than the view; he was still reading the after-action report complied by Caine. Glancing up for a moment, he saw a spectacular display that made him pause for a moment, the ruins of the Dauntless burning up in the atmosphere, a hundred thousand shooting stars visible across an entire hemisphere.

 Opposite him, Zebrova was reading the same report, occasionally making notations; luring the enemy ship into the range of the orbital defense cannons had been a brilliant move, albeit one that had largely been forced on Alamo. At least it proved that both Driftwind and Hydra Station were strongly held now, even if the price had been far higher than he would ever have willingly paid. His father’s death was still sinking in, but he could mourn later. For now, he had work to do.

 Dropping the datapad to the seat, Marshall watched as the shuttle slowed for landing, two others already present on the dry lake bed. A few figures were running around, Espatiers setting up defensive perimeters. Dust flew up into the air as the landing thrusters tore into the ground, the shuttle finally settling down on the sand, the airlock popping open.

 Orlova and Carpenter were waiting for him, the latter leaning on a crutch; they saluted as he walked out of the shuttle, Zebrova following him. He looked up at Orlova, but she wouldn’t return his look, instead dropping her eyes to the desert floor. Walking over to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

 “It isn’t your fault, Maggie,” he said.

 “I pulled the trigger. Or I might as well have done.”

 Tapping a control on his datapad, he said, “He thought you did the right thing.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “He did?”

 “During that shuttle flight over to the station, he did two things. The first was to send me one last message, and the other was a rather more comprehensive report to Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, over on Ouroboros. I presume he thought she had the best chance of surviving the battle.”

 Zebrova nodded, and said, “In it, he assumes all responsibility for what happened on Alamo, states that in his opinion your actions are justified, and exonerates you of all blame. Based on that, the Captain and I don’t think there is even cause for a board, never mind any thought of a court-martial.”

 “You were in an impossible position, Maggie, and it’s my fault,” Marshall said. “I’m the one who left my father in command, and that makes what happened my responsibility.” Shaking his head, he said, “When he stole that shuttle to head over to Hydra, he had no intention of coming back. That’s clear enough.” Managing a smile, he looked over at Carpenter, and said, “We’d better not tax your leg any longer than we have to. What have you found for us?”

 Carpenter waved at Cooper, who came running over, Ixia and Zardok by his side. Over by the third shuttle, a dejected looking Price sat, a pair of guards looking down at him, weapons at the ready in case he should try anything – though given his current demeanor, that looked the least likely thing in the world.

 “Really, Corporal Cooper deserves a lot of the credit,” she said. “All we ended up getting out of this site was a sample of writing, and a few blurry images. Price’s team saw to that when they killed our people. I’m convinced they would have killed us if they had found us.”

 Cooper nodded, and said, “It was that wrecked ship we found on the way out here.”

 “The skeleton?”

 “Yes,” he replied, “and more than that. There was a lot of writing, as well. I didn’t even attempt any analysis, we didn’t have the tools or the people to do it.”

 “But he did send all the data to me while he was on his way to Hydra Station,” Carpenter interrupted. “That gave me a big enough sample that the computer was able to decode the text, and finding that skeleton just about clinched it.”

 She started to walk over to the ruin, limping on her leg; Orlova walked beside her, arm extended to catch her if she should fall, and the rest of the party followed her.

 “We already know that there was a war here, ten thousand years ago, and that it spread across a lot of local space. This was obviously a military installation of some sort, possibly a shelter. The base that was destroyed was rather bigger, based on the readings we received.”

 Marshall frowned, and said, “What does this have to do with the attacks? Why would the Cabal be interested?”

 “They weren’t.” She gestured at Price, and said, “He’s not working for the Cabal, he’s working for the Neander. At least, that’s what I’ve concluded.”

 “I’m confused,” Orlova said, but Carpenter raised her hand.

 “It’s all horribly simple, Maggie,” she said. “The war, the ten thousand year old struggle, the one this world has legends of...it was not fought between two Neander factions. It was fought between the Neander, and, well, us.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “There’s no evidence of a civilization that well-developed on Earth before ours, and the only sign of alien contact we’ve ever proven was at Desdemona.”

 “Who said anything about Earth? It’s logical enough – if one branch of humanity was taken from Earth and seeded on other worlds, why not another? Our ancestors were having just as difficult a time, and there was no reason to suppose that one side or the other would win.” She paused, then said, “There were two wars at least. One that involved the aliens who took our ancestors away from Earth, maybe thirty thousand years ago, and another…”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “That started when those two offshoots of humanity ran into each other, ten thousand years ago. As soon as they met, there was conflict.”

 Marshall walked over to Price, fury on his face, and said, “You knew. All the damn time. And you decided some of my crew had to die. Why?”

 He stood up, looking straight at Marshall, and replied, “I did it to protect the Neander. All of them. They’ve been enslaved, damn it! The Cabal took their worlds from them, and is slowly wiping them off the map. It isn’t fair, and something needs to be done about it.”

 “What does this…”

 “If you found out that ten thousand years ago, the Neander did their damnedest to wipe us out, who the hell would support any effort for their liberation! You couldn’t know, and as soon as it became obvious you found out, you had to be stopped.”

 “That’s why you took control of the station? Why you tried to let Dauntless wipe out Alamo?” Orlova asked.

 “I did some tactical projections of my own. Without the satellites, it would have been a tough fight, but you would have lost. In the process, you’d have done enough damage to the Dauntless that I could have knocked it out. The Dumont is already on its way back to get Triplanetary reinforcements, and I’d have had enough time to cover up the evidence that no-one would ever have known.” He looked at Cooper, and said, “Including sending people to destroy that wreck you found.”

 “What do you think, Carpenter?” Marshall asked.

 “He’s right about the Neander winning, though evidently they took enough damage during the war that their spacefaring civilization ended soon after. Civil war, perhaps, or something like that. The message on the ship is quite clear on that part.” Pulling out a datapad, she said, “Do you want to hear it?”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Yes, very much.”

 With a cough, she began, reading, “Hear now the last testament of the Wolf’s Doom. That we sailed the stars to smite our foes, our enemies of a hundred years, to guard the greatest secret of all, that of the mother which birthed us all.” She looked up, and said, “I presume that means Earth.”

 “Go on,” Orlova said.

 “We died that our brethren would live, live to escape and keep the secret forever, though it condemned us to slow death on this barren waste. My comrades chose to die quickly, though I tarry on the threshold of eternity in order to pass on this message. Our people are gone, but will live again. Will sail the stars once more. And when they do, I too will live once more. Remember us.”  She looked up, and said, “That’s it. That’s all there was.”

 “He sounds like a brave man. What do you think he meant?”

 Carpenter shrugged, and said, “This was ten thousand years ago, and I doubt this was the only attempt to conceal the past. Evidence is going to be scanty, but my guess is that some of them made it back to Earth.”

 “Impossible,” Zebrova said. “We’d remember.”

 “After ten thousand years, Lieutenant? Look at what happened at that time. The first city-states, the beginnings of agriculture, government. What would you do, if the crew of Alamo were stranded on a primitive world, no way of replacing your technology?”

 “That’s all guesswork, though,” Marshall said. “Though it’s nice to think that our friend died for something.”

 “He certainly did,” Carpenter replied. “Odds are that the Neander would have wiped us out if they had found Earth.” Looking at Zardok, she said, “Did you know about this?”

 “I knew our people had traveled the stars long ago, had settled worlds you now claim, but no, I didn’t know about this.”

 “You had to be protected,” Price said. “Captain Marshall, you can do whatever you want with me, but I implore you to keep this secret safe. No-one else needs to know. It’s all in the past, ten thousand years dead…”

 “People have died, Price,” Marshall said.

 “You can’t suppress this,” Carpenter replied. “My life…”

 “There’s more at stake here than a book deal,” Price said, “or your fame and fortune.”

 “Realistically, the truth will get out sooner or later,” Marshall said.

 “Tell them,” Ixia said. “If we did this terrible thing, all those years ago, then perhaps we deserve the fate we have received.”

 Price stepped forward, the guards moving closer, and said, “That’s why the secret has to be kept. If it comes out…”

 “It’s out, damn it!” Marshall yelled. He gestured at the spot where Mulenga died, and said, “All of this is for nothing! More than a dozen people – people who were alive today – are dead because of what you did, including my own father!” Taking a deep breath, he said, “This happened ten thousand years ago. Everyone who fought in those wars is dead.”

 “Do the Neander on the planet know about this?” Orlova said. 

 “No,” Price replied. “Only four others knew. You’ve got one of them in your sickbay, and the rest died on the attack on the station. My grandfather told me, and I told the others in the course of proving it.” Looking around, he said, “The only living people who know what happened are right here. If the Cabal knew about the war, I know they’d have used that information.”

 “Sir,” Zebrova said, “It’s your decision.”

 Carpenter looked around, and said, “I can’t believe we’re thinking about suppressing information.”

 “Let the dead rest,” Orlova said, quietly. “That’s my opinion.” 

 Marshall walked away from the group, out towards the desert, looking at the horizon. The jagged mountains in the distance seemed strangely inviting, thin swirls of dust dancing around, a couple of scattered clouds, more re-entry trails from debris from the Dauntless. He tried to imagine the war, a hundred years of fighting, no surrender possible. That this planet was once a battlefield, where a few scattered survivors held out for a while in the deep shelters, before finally meeting their end. After a few moments, he turned, and walked back to the group.

 “Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, I will want a full and complete report on everything you have uncovered here, complete with all the evidence you have obtained up to this point. Get Cooper to help you.”

 “Please, Captain…,” Price said.

 “I’ll get on it at once, sir,” Carpenter said.

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m classifying this whole matter as Ultra. No dissemination, no official reports, nothing. Subject to Presidential confirmation, my recommendation is that the files remain sealed for fifty years, potential for renewal.”

 “What!”

 “He’s right, Carpenter,” Marshall said. “If this got out, the chances of any public sympathy for the Neander would drop to nothing. It might be ten thousand years ago, but the memories could get fresh, very quickly.”

 “One day all of this will come out, sir,” Carpenter said.

 Nodding, he replied, “And if it is a Triplanetary ship that uncovers it, I suspect its commander will make the same decision. This can’t help, Sub-Lieutenant. It can only hurt. This has caused enough death already, I won’t sanction any more.” He paused, then said, “Though this isn’t forever. At some point, the truth will come out. When it can’t hurt the living. I don’t think the best memorial for the dead is a race war, do you?”

 “What about us?” Zardok said.

 “That’s up to you,” replied Marshall. “I can order my people not to talk, but you are another matter. I’ll leave the decision to your own conscience.”

 He looked at Ixia, and said, “We will say nothing. Thank you, Captain. I appreciate this.”

 “As for you, Price, you’re going to live with this a lot longer. Technically, there should be a trial, but all of this would come out in it.” He looked around, gesturing with his hands, and said, “You’re staying down here on the surface. There are about forty survivors from the Dauntless, which means, I suppose, an impromptu prison camp, though I don’t see the need to bother with guards. We’ll give them provisions, medical supplies, a communicator. You and Pendol can join them, tell them whatever story you want.”

 “That seems fair,” Price replied. “I freely admit my guilt, I'm not going to hide from this behind a tissue of legal trickery.”

 “Any court in the Confederation would give you life imprisonment, and that’s what you are going to get. It might take a while, but eventually the Dauntless survivors will be repatriated. You’re here for life.”

 He nodded, “I’m surprised….”

 “No firing squad?” he said. “That would be a mercy, and I’m not feeling particularly merciful today. I want you to live with what you did.”

 “The station?”

 “We’ve got a lease on it for ninety-nine years. I presume you have relatives somewhere it will revert to one day. But you’ve seen it for the last time.” He turned to Orlova, and said, “Can you handle the arrangements, Lieutenant?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Good.” He looked at the shuttle, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

 Marshall sat in his office, ignoring the paperwork on his desk, looking up at the picture of his father still hanging on the wall, then turning to look out of the viewport at the planet below, and the stars beyond. Soon they would at last be on their way home, their mission coming to an end. Just the passage through the Shrouded Stars left; it couldn’t be soon enough. He heard a cough, and turned to see Caine at the door; she’d managed to enter without him even noticing.

 “Do you want to talk for a moment?”

 “I’ve got a meeting with the Commandant in a few minutes,” he said.

 “Let me put it another way,” she said, sitting down. “You need to talk.”

 With a smile, he nodded, saying, “You might be right at that.”

 “You’ve been through a hell of a lot this last year. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

 “I spent most of my adult life wondering where my father was, trying to find him. Then I finally do, and he gets killed.” Gesturing at one of the datapads, he continued, “And left me with a hell of a mess.”

 “I’m trying to think of an easy way to put this, and I can’t, so here it is, plain. Your father wasn’t a good commander. He was too inflexible, he played favorites too easily, and he couldn’t listen to advice he disagreed with. He spent his whole career at war, then was stuck on a prison ship for ten years.”

 Closing his eyes, Marshall said, “It’s hard to accept that, though. I idolized him. He was everything I wanted to be, growing up. The reason I pushed so hard for this command in the first place was to follow in his footsteps.”

 “And now you find out he was trying to follow in yours. He tried, Danny, he tried as hard as he could. It wasn’t enough.” Sighing, she said, “Pulling a gun on a prisoner, declaring martial law, sending Zebrova off into exile.”

 “He wanted to protect his crew. I can’t fault him for that.” He looked down at the report, and said, “It’ll all hang in limbo, of course. He’s dead, so no court-martial, no hearing, nothing. His personnel file will end with whatever report I choose to file.”

 “Have you decided what you are going to do?”

 “I could pass it up to Commodore Tramiel, but that’s the cheap way out. I’ll record the facts, just the facts, and leave it at that. Let his service record end with the notation that he gave his life to protect his crew and his ship. It’s even the truth.”

 “I think it’s the way he wanted to go, anyway. I don’t think he was built for peacetime.”

 “We only had a few years of war, Deadeye. He had twenty-two.” He paused, then said, “You gave Maggie a bit of a rough time, didn’t you?”

 Nodding, she said, “I thought...I don’t know what I thought. It wasn’t her fault.”

 “I think you owe her an apology.”

 “You’re probably right about that, as well. When I thought you were dead, it just seemed so damn unfair.” With a smile, she said, “I’m used to having you around, I guess. Too many friends dead already. I’ll have a word with her.”

 There was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal Cooper and Bradley standing at the threshold, looking nervous.

 “Can I speak to you, sir?”

 “Everyone wants to talk to me today, Corporal,” Marshall said. “Of course. Come in and take a seat.” Leaning out to Kibaki, he said, “When the Commandant arrives, please keep him entertained for me, will you?”

 “Aye, sir,” he said with a smile, and the two of them walked in, standing at attention in front of Marshall and Caine.

 “This all seems very formal,” Marshall said. “I wanted to speak to you anyway, Bradley. I understand you’ve been training up for flight operations on the bridge.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied. “At Lieutenant Orlova’s suggestion.”

 “I looked over your records, and the idiot who turned you down for fighter training ought to be thrown out of the service. I’d be happy to sponsor you for flight school when we get back, if you want.”

 She looked at Cooper, who nodded, and said, “I’d like that, sir.”

 “Naturally, this means a commission, and I don’t think there’s any reason to wait.” He glanced at Caine, and said, “Our two remaining midshipmen are getting one, anyway. Might as well get their new insignia to wear when we get back to Mariner.”

 “A commission, sir?” Bradley said, frowning.

 “Normal for fighter pilots,” Marshall replied. “You’re a little old for training, but you’ll still have six years before you need a waiver. I’ve got a few old friends back there, so I don’t think that will count against you in admission.”

 “It’s just…”

 “Sir,” Cooper said, “We came in to ask you to marry us.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Marshall replied, “Corporal, you’ve made my day.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “I think you just made that impossible, skipper. The regulations about officer/enlisted relationships are quite clear.”

 “True,” Marshall said.

 “Look, I’m about to leave the service anyway, sir,” Cooper said.

 “I thought you were going to fight to stay in,” Bradley replied, looking at him.

 He turned to her with a smile, and said, “I want to be an Espatier, and I also want to be with you, and I know what is more important. That last mission taught me that much.”

 “Relax, Cooper, I’m going to get you off the hook,” Marshall said. “I will happily marry you.”

 “Can I do it in uniform, sir? One last time?”

 His smile widening, Marshall said, “I damn well hope so. You aren’t leaving the service. I had a chance to look into the regulations when we got back, and I checked my interpretation with Lieutenant Zebrova.”

 “Which means you know it is correct,” Caine added.

 “The Triplanetary Espatiers were created in even more of a hurry than the Fleet. Which meant that aside from a few cosmetic changes, they have the same regulations as the old Martian Marines. Now in the last few years of the war, they were running short of experienced NCOs and officers. Too many wounded. There was a regulation permitting the retention of any trooper who was injured, provided he had a requisite amount of combat experience and the right rank.”

 Cooper looked at Bradley, and said, “I’m just a Lance-Corporal.”

 “But you have more than enough experience of combat, I think. The regulations specify that you must have the rank of full Sergeant, or a commission. I don’t think I can promote you to Sergeant…”

 “No, sir,” Cooper said, shaking his head.

 “...Which means I’ll have to give you a commission, instead. I think an Ensign can marry a Sub-Lieutenant, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

 “Sounds fine and legal to me, sir,” Caine said.

 “With all due respect, sir, I’ll have to decline,” Cooper said.

 “Why?” Marshall replied.

 Looking at Bradley, he said, “I want to stay in, but I won’t take a rank I don’t merit. In ten years I might be good enough to be a Sergeant, but an officer…”

 “This isn’t just a way of keeping you in, Cooper. That’s just a nice fringe benefit.” He picked up a selection of datapads, and continued, “Field reports from Lieutenant Orlova, Lance-Sergeant Forrest, Sub-Lieutenant Cantrell, and myself, incidentally. All of them end with the same recommendation, and it points directly to Ensign Cooper.”

 “This is about Zabek, isn’t it,” Caine said.

 “How could I live up to that,” Cooper replied. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

 “Cooper, you planned a mission deep into Cabal space to rescue your crew, managed some pretty tricky intelligence work, special operations stuff at Hades. I understand that you started giving orders during the fighting on Hydra Station.”

 “I forgot myself.”

 “Ensign Zabek, Cooper, was two and a half months older than you when she died,” Caine said. “What you don’t know, you will learn.”

 “Both of you will be going back to school when we get home. Bradley for three months of fighter conversion, and you for three months at OTC.”

 “I don’t meet the educational requirements, sir,” Cooper said, wavering.

 “That’ll just mean it is tough as hell. Sergeant Forrest and Lieutenant Nelyubov have offered to give you some coaching on our way back.” He pulled out another datapad, and held it up to him. “I can’t order you to do this, I just think it is a good idea. There are two sorts of enlisted that we promote to officers. The first are the old veterans, who get given the rank in their last few years to get a good pension built up, and the second are the ones who should have been commissioned in the first place.”

 “That’s you,” Caine said.

 Glancing across at her, Marshall replied, “You already have the instincts, and you’ll learn the rest, over time. No-one ever takes a command as a finished product. You just have to do the best with what you’ve got.” Pausing for a second, he said, “I left Mariner with one rookie Ensign. I’d like to come back with a replacement. Take it, Cooper.”

 With a quick look at Bradley, he placed his thumb-print on the datapad, and said, “I was less scared going into my first battle.”

 Looking up at the clock, Marshall said, “I’m needed on the bridge about now, I think. Feel free to borrow my office for as long as you want. Come on, Deadeye, I think we’re redundant here at the moment.”

 They stepped out of his office onto the bridge; the Commandant was waiting for them, being given a quick demonstration of the communications system by Kibaki. Before Marshall walked over to him, Caine grabbed his arm.

 “That was a good thing you did back there.”

 “Hell, they’re both good people. They deserve a break. I needed it more than they did. As long as some good comes out of all this.” He walked over to the bored-looking Commandant, who looked away from the station as he approached.

 “Ah, Captain. Much as I have enjoyed this little tour, I am glad to see you.”

 “Things have been rather busy since I returned, I’m afraid.”

 “The quarters you assigned are most comfortable,” he said. “Though I would like to see more of the ship.”

 “That may have to wait a while,” Marshall replied. “Nevertheless…”

 “Sir,” Ortega said from the communications station, “I have Lieutenant Bailey for you.”

 “Good,” he replied, moving over to the command chair. “Put her on.”

 Her face flickered onto the screen, and she said, “All secure over here, sir. I thought I’d let you know that the defense network is fully operational again, back in position, and that the prisoners seem to be settled nicely down on the planet.”

 “Thank you, Lieutenant. It isn’t too late for you to change your mind about this.”

 “Hell, I’m not in any hurry to get home, sir. Someone’s got to command the station until you get back, and I’m as good a choice as any.”

 Nodding, he replied, “If the Dumont got home, a task force could already be on the way. We will send help back as soon as we can, so hopefully you’ll see some friendly faces in about four months’ time.”

 “We’ll be waiting.”

 “If after six months, no-one comes, or in your opinion the base is untenable, get out on the transports and break for home.” Raising a hand, he said, “No protest on this, Lieutenant. That’s an order.”

 “Understood, Captain.”

 “Good luck to you, then.”

 “We’re leaving?” the Commandant asked.

 “Hendecaspace point in one minute,” Makarova said from the helm.

 “Very good. You have the call.” Turning back to the Commandant, he said, “Does that answer your question? Tell me something. Is this what you expected would happen?”

 “I had every confidence that your skills would provide an acceptable outcome.”

 “Which doesn’t answer my question. I’d say you were a born diplomat.”

 “All decks are clear for hendecaspace,” Kibaki said.

 Sitting down on the chair, feeling more comfortable than he had for months, he looked out at the viewscreen, getting one last look at Driftwind, frowning as he remembered the ones that wouldn’t be coming back with them. At least, this time, he knew what had happened to his father, and somehow that was comfort enough, at least for now.

 They were leaving the Cabal behind, and no matter what could lie ahead for them in the Shrouded Stars, it couldn’t be worse than what they had already gone through to get this far. As a bright flash lit the screen, and the stars vanished from view, he smiled. He could relax, now that they were on their way home.

 Hell, never mind on their way. As far as he was concerned, he was home.

Thank you for reading 'The First Duty'. 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 Spitfire Station: Ghost Ship and Battlecruiser Alamo: Shrouded Stars, available soon on Amazon.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24