TRIPLE-EDGED SWORD

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 17

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #17: Triple-Edged Sword

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: February 2016

Cover By Keith Draws

With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville

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

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Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,

Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,

Welcome to your gory bed,—

 Or to victorie.—

Now ’s the day, and now’s the hour;

See the front o’ battle lour;

See approach proud Edward’s power,

 Chains and Slaverie.—

Wha will be a traitor-knave?

Wha can fill a cowards’ grave?

Wha sae base as be a Slave?

 —Let him turn and flie.—

Wha for Scotland’s king and law,

Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,

Free-Man stand, or Free-Man fa’,

 Let him follow me.—

By Oppression’s woes and pains!

By your Sons in servile chains!

We will drain our dearest veins,

 But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!

Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty ’s in every blow!

 Let us Do—or Die!!!

Robert Burns

Chapter 1

 Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, Security Officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo, stood on the flight deck watching the last of the transfer shuttles rising up through the elevator airlock, bringing the last of the replacement crewmen on board. He glanced across at the departure list, now mercifully reduced from the hectic schedule they'd been laboring under for the last week. A thousand last-minute issues had cropped up, crewmen passing back and forth, every department suddenly deciding that they needed a last-minute piece of equipment.

 Over on the far side of the room, the Deck Officer, Sub-Lieutenant Bradley, looked over her new pride and joy, the fist-shaped shuttle that was making this expedition possible. A combined fuel extractor and tanker all in one design; which, if it worked as they all hoped, would be able to keep Alamo moving without waiting for fueling stops, untangling them from the worst of the complicated logistic arrangements that had hamstrung previous expeditions into the unknown.

 Not that it looked particularly attractive, and when he'd taken it out on its test flight, it had flown like a pig as well. Far more appealing were the Mark Ten Fast Shuttles he'd managed to requisition, all sleek lines and curved wings designed for high-speed atmospheric maneuvering. A real pilot's craft. Bradley looked across at him, a smile on her face.

 “Hands off, Pavel,” she said. “These babies are mine. And I think your rookies are coming on board, so stop drooling and get to work.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he replied, throwing a mock salute. Turning back to the airlock, he saw the transfer shuttle resting on the pad, the hatch sliding open as the first of the new intake stepped out. Eight in this batch, the third of the day. He glanced down at his watch, shaking his head. Behind schedule if they wanted to leave Thule on time. There wasn't much chance that Captain Orlova would agree to delay, which meant a lot of extra work in the next few hours.

 “Everyone into the office,” he said, waving them on. “Leave your holdalls out here. We'll get them squared away later.” 

 The new personnel looked at each other, then followed him into the small room, barely large enough to hold them all. Salazar rested a datapad on the desk, the important points of his briefing listed on it, but he wasn't going to need it. By now, he knew this speech by heart. He looked at the crewmen as they walked in, a mixture of seasoned veterans and inexperienced ex-trainees, most of them destined for the maintenance crews. One of them stood out, a tall brunette who carried herself with an air of familiarity, an easy smile on her face. Confidence he would not have expected from a Spaceman Third Class on her first cruise. As he thought about it, she looked a little old for the rank.

 “Is something wrong, sir?” she asked.

 “Not that I know of,” he replied. Taking a breath, he looked around, and said, “Let's get started, shall we? We've got a lot to cover, and we don't have long to do it. First of all, welcome to the Battlecruiser Alamo. She's a proud ship with a hell of a combat record, and I encourage all of you to look up some of the details of her missions. I can personally vouch that they make for exciting reading.” Frowning, he asked, “Who's the senior crewman of this intake?” 

 A balding dark-skinned man looked around, replying, “I am, sir. Senior Spaceman Hammond. Late of the Battlecruiser Theseus and the new Hercules.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “There are quite a few veterans of the last Hercules on board, Spaceman. I'm sure some of them would like to know about the new ship that bears her name.” Looking around, he said, “For four of you, this is your first deep-space assignment. Each of you will be paired with a Senior Spaceman for your first week on board. You will watch and you will listen. Don't do anything unless told.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, “Now, this mission has been rated as hazardous, so you'll be drawing combat pay. I see that two of you don't have recently updated wills.” Shaking his head, he said, “Make sure that is dealt with before we leave.”

 “No need, sir,” the brunette said. “I don't intend to die out here.”

 “I'm sure everyone whose name is written on the memorial wall thought the same thing,” Salazar said. “No sense depriving your next-of-kin of your service insurance, Spaceman, so see that you arrange it. If you need help, talk to Sub-Lieutenant Scott, the Captain's Assistant.”

 There was a knock on the door, and Bradley stepped through, looking down at a datapad, saying, “Pavel, I need your opinion on spares for those new Mark Tens of yours. I don't think…” Pausing, she looked up, into the eyes of the brunette, and said, “Cantrell? What the hell are you doing here?”

 “Cantrell?” Salazar said. “I thought she was...”

 “I don't care what her record says,” Bradley replied, walking up to her. “Go on, you might as well admit it.”

 With a shrug, the brunette said, “I figured this would come up sooner or later.”

 Hammond looked around, and asked, “Sir, what's happening?”

 Sighing, Salazar said, “Once I work that out myself, Spaceman, you'll be the first to know. Take charge of this group, and get them to the Quartermaster for room assignment. Then you all might as well report to Senior Lieutenant Quinn in Engineering. He'll find you something to do. We'll have to handle the paperwork later. Dismissed.”

 “Sir,” Hammond said, snapping to attention along with the others, leading them from the room in cramped single file. Cantrell stayed, hands on hips, a smile still on her face.

 “Now,” Salazar said. “Could someone kindly tell me what the hell is going on here?”

 Pulling out her communicator, Bradley said, “Bradley to Shuttle One.”

 “Great answer,” Salazar replied, sotto voce.

 “Shuttle One here,” the voice of Captain Orlova, Alamo's commander, replied. “What's up?”

 “We have an unexpected guest, Captain. I don't want to put it on the channel.”

 With a sigh, Orlova replied, “Barbara, I've been hip-dip in diplomats all day long with the treaty signing. Is this urgent?”

 Bradley paused for a moment, and said, “Cantrell just turned up. Undercover.” 

 “What?”

 “Yes, ma'am. She's with me in my office.”

 “I'll be on the deck in three minutes, Sub-Lieutenant. Don't let her out of your sight. Orlova out.” 

 Sitting down with a resigned air and a sigh, Salazar said, “If it isn't too much trouble to let a poor, unfortunate Security Officer know what is going on...”

 “This...officer,” Bradley began, “is a spy. On our trip through the Cabal, she took the role of a sensor technician, one of the worst I've ever seen, incidentally, and only broke cover when everything went wrong.” Looking at her, she said, “I can't believe you actually thought that it would work again.”

 “Actually, I didn't,” she replied. “The ruse was only to get me on board. As soon as we reached hendecaspace, I was going to identify myself to the Captain.”

 “Then who is she?” Salazar asked.

 “Sub-Lieutenant Lisa Cantrell. Last I heard, she was Intelligence Liaison at Hydra Station.”

 “Actually,” Cantrell said, “it's plain Lieutenant now. I was promoted six months ago. Not that I'll bring you up on charges for insubordination, or anything like that.”

 Turning to her, Bradley said, “You came damn close to getting my husband killed, and you wanted to assassinate Captain Marshall!”

 “That's not quite accurate,” she replied. “I saved his life, and I only wanted to terminate Captain Marshall when he was in the hands of the Cabal, and there was a danger of the knowledge he possessed being extracted.” Turning to Salazar, she said, “I assure you, I'm on the side of the angels.”

 The door opened, and Orlova stepped in, Ensign Gabriel Cooper, the head of Alamo's Espatier force, behind her. He shook his head when he saw Cantrell, then glanced across at his wife's furious scowl.

 “Gabe?” Cantrell said. “Good to see you again.”

 “Likewise,” he said, with a curt nod. “Though I hadn't expected the pleasure.”

 Her arms folded, Orlova said, “What are you doing here?” 

 “That's it?” Cantrell asked.

 “If this is some sort of covert operation, you can assume that it has failed.”

 Shaking her head, Cantrell replied, “Captain, if this was some sort of secret mission, they wouldn't have sent me. And no, I don't know if anyone has been infiltrated onto this ship, though I doubt it.”

 “Then why are you here?” Bradley asked.

 Looking around, she said, “I'm reporting for duty.”

 “Duty?”

 “Wherever you want me, Captain, I will go. After our last mission together, I was ruined as an intelligence agent, so I took steps to rejoin the regular Fleet.” Passing across a datapad, she said, “I completed Advanced Tactical six weeks ago. Third in my class.”

 “Lieutenant Daley?” she asked, reading from the certificate.

 “Naturally, I had to use a cover name, but I assure you that both the training and my scores are real. I wouldn't risk this ship by faking them.” Stepping towards Orlova, she said, “You're going on a mission that might last up to a year into unexplored space. I want to go with you. If I stay here, I'm condemned to a life of administrative tedium, and that isn't what I signed up for.”

 “Are you AWOL?” Orlova asked.

 With a beaming smile, Cantrell replied, “An intelligence agent can't be absent without leave, Captain. At my level, we go where we think we are needed, not where we are sent, and it is my judgment that I am needed here. You are short of a Tactical Officer, for a start, and I think that you will find that I can be surprisingly innovative in that role.”

 Bradley shook her head, and said, “The last time we crossed paths, you were the most inept technician I have ever seen. Not to mention insubordinate, argumentative and headstrong.”

 “All traits that I submit will make me a perfect fit for this ship.”

 Cooper glanced at his wife, then said, “If she wants to serve, ma'am, I'd say we should let her. I've seen her in the field, and I'll vouch for her ability.” Bradley glared daggers at him, and he continued, “Though obviously I don't know how she'll be at a bridge station.”

 The door slid open, and Lieutenant Kristen Harper, Alamo's Intelligence Officer, stepped in, her green hair spilling down over the back of her neck. Cantrell beamed recognition as she entered the room, a smile spreading across her face. Pulling out a datapad, Harper began to read.

 “Lieutenant Cantrell, you are under arrest on three charges of espionage, one charge of treason, and one charge of conspiracy to commit treason.”

 Cantrell glanced at Orlova, and said, “This isn't what it sounds like.”

 “I certainly hope not,” Orlova replied.

 Harper shook her head, and said, “Lieutenant Cantrell is a rogue agent. Even by my standards. I was alerted to look out for her arrival a few weeks ago, though I didn't expect that she would actually turn up here.” Turning to Orlova, she said, “We should arrange for her to be transferred to Hengist. She has a date with a court-martial back on Mars.”

 “No, wait,” Cantrell said. “There's more to it than that.” Looking at Harper, she added, “You know how many damn factions Intelligence has splintered into since the election. Even with your clearance, you don't get access to everything we're doing.”

 “This should be good,” Bradley said, a smile returning to her face. “Maybe I should send out for popcorn.”

 With a sigh, Cantrell replied, “I traded information about the not-men, as well as everything we have learned about their technology, to agents of the Lunar Republic. Fleet Captain Paine had decided that they needed to know what we were facing, but the Senate was refusing to transfer the material.”

 “So you did it anyway,” Orlova said, “and you got caught.”

 “They decided to make me a scapegoat,” Cantrell said. “Half a dozen failed operations have been dumped on my head. Maggie...Captain, I was going to come out here anyway. I really did want to transfer back to the regular Fleet. I've done one covert operation too many.”

 “What do you expect me to do about it?”

 “Let me come with you. There's no official warrant out for my arrest, and only Triplanetary Intelligence is after me at the moment. I managed to arrange that much. The crew won't know what is happening, and by the time we get back, Paine will have come up with some way to settle the issue. Unless they find someone else to throw to the lions.”

 Harper looked at Orlova, and said, “You know her better than I do. I will say that her story is plausible. A lot of Senators have been trying to get their grips into Intelligence lately, and a few months ago there was a lot of talk about handing over some information to the Republic.”

 “And your recommendation?” Orlova asked.

 With a shrug, the hacker said, “Way above my pay grade, ma'am. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes.”

 “The safe option,” Bradley said, “is to send her back and let them sort it all out back at Mars. If it turns out that she is telling the truth, then I'm sure her bosses will work out a way to untangle her from the charges.”

 “Then we go out without a Tactical Officer,” Cooper replied.

 “Take her,” Salazar said. “In my opinion, ma'am.”

 “Any reason for that, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 He paused, then said, “Anyone who wants to go along on this mission so badly shouldn't be denied the chance. If she was a traitor, she'd find somewhere better to run to than a battlecruiser where she was known as a spy. Gilgamesh is going out as well, from Houston Station. Why not sneak on that ship instead?” Looking at her, he said, “I think her story hangs together well enough to trust her.”

 There was a long pause, Bradley engaging in a staring contest with Cantrell that would have been amusing on another day, Cooper doing his best to fade into the background while Orlova looked at the small viewscreen, watching Thule revolve underneath them.

 “Am I going to regret this, Cantrell?” she asked.

 “Probably,” she replied. “I know I have a tendency to outstay my welcome on occasion.”

 With a sigh, Orlova said, “I'll put a formal transfer request in for you. It can go back with Hengist, and I'll sign you on as Tactical Officer.” Turning to her, she said, “That means that everyone will know exactly where you are, so if the charges against you haven't been cleared by the time we get back, the Military Police will be waiting.” 

 “Fair enough,” she replied.

 “That, and both Harper and I will be watching you. If you do anything suspicious...”

 Raising a hand, Cantrell said, “I understand. I'll do my best, Captain. I promise.”

 “I hope so,” Orlova said, stepping for the door. “I'll break the good news to everyone at the post-jump staff meeting.” She glanced down at her watch, and said, “I don't know why all of you are standing around looking at each other. We're leaving the system in five hours, and I have no intention of being late.”

 As the others walked out, Cantrell loitered behind, Salazar still sitting in his chair, looking at her.

 “Something wrong, Sub-Lieutenant?” she asked. 

 “Probably nothing, but it occurs to me that if Intelligence wanted to place an agent on this ship, your cover story would work extremely well to convince Captain Orlova to take you on board.  I have an idea that Harper isn't going to be as cooperative as she has been in the past, and this is a sensitive enough mission that I could see the brass putting an operative in place.”

 Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “That's an interesting theory.”

 “One that you can be sure Captain Orlova has thought of, as well.” He paused, and said, “You're my senior officer, so I suppose this is technically insubordination, but if you do anything that is not in the best interests of this ship, I will stop you.”

 A smile spread across her face, and she said, “I see that everything I've heard about you is true.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I'll have to keep an eye on you, Sub-Lieutenant. And if you ever want to change career tracks, I suspect you'll have plenty of offers. If it puts your mind at ease, I assure you that everything I told you is true.”

 “That doesn't necessarily change a thing,” he said. “All that means is that you've made certain the cover story will hold.”

 With a shrug, she replied, “I like you, Sub-Lieutenant. Keep hold of that paranoia. It might save your life some day.”

Chapter 2

 Orlova looked down at the stack of datapads on her desk, shaking her head as she thumbed through the latest report, Bradley's voluminous essay on the status of her shuttles, with a not-so-implicit criticism of the way in which they'd overloaded the flight deck. Eight shuttles in a space meant for five wasn't going to be easy to handle by any stretch of the imagination, but experience suggested that it was not likely to be a problem for long.

 There was a knock on the door, and Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, her Executive Officer, stepped into the room, holding another datapad in his hands. When he looked down at the mess on her desk, he shook his head, taking a seat opposite her, hugging the pad to his chest.

 “I guess the flight out here was a bit boring, wasn't it,” he said.

 “Every department head seems to have decided to keep their people occupied with busy-work,” she replied. “I'd have no objection if they didn't expect me to read all of it. I swear Bradley's managed ten thousand words here.”

 “I'll wait for the movie,” Nelyubov replied. “Do you want me to give my report verbally?”

 “Definitely,” she replied, dropping the datapad to the desk and sitting back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes, then said, “Twenty minutes left until emergence, right?”

 “Just about,” he said. “Everyone's already on stand-by alert.”

 “Good,” she said. “Well, what's the bad news?”

 “There's a lot of reports about the bridge crew and senior enlisted that boil down to everything you already know. We've got a lot of experienced hands at those levels, all performing as expected, though I want to work harder on a program of cross-training.”

 Orlova chuckled, and as his face reddened, said, “Sorry, Frank. I said the same thing myself when Captain Marshall named me Operations Officer, and I'm pretty sure my predecessor had the same idea. It's one of those great ideas that we never seem to have the time to get to, but if you can find a way to manage it, I'll cheer you on.”

 “I know, I know. The duty schedules are tight enough as it is, but I think we need to at least get one paramedic on each bridge shift. We've finished the rotation to the new bridge watch system, and I don't think there's anything to adjust at the moment.” Looking up from the screen, he said, “You want me to get to the bigger problems, don't you?”

 “The mid-ranks.”

 “We're weak there, and I think we both know it. The last couple of missions thinned us out, and the latest round of promotions rather finished the job. Not that I'm complaining, don't get me wrong, but I'm slightly concerned that as things stand at the moment, Harper is the most senior Lieutenant we have on the ship. Making her, God help us, fifth in what passes for the chain of command.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “She'd pass it onto the next in line.”

 “Which is Lieutenant Cantrell, and there I have even more qualms.”

 “Problems?”

 Frowning, he replied, “Nothing I can quite put my finger on, I'm afraid. She's performed well enough in the battle simulations that I'm willing to trust her with Tactical. It isn't exactly a large department to manage, but I don't like the way she came on board.”

 “Keep an eye on her,” she said. “We'll make sure that you are always on the bridge in battle. Not exactly normal procedure, but Joe Kibaki can stand-by in Auxiliary Control instead. With the layout we have now, if we lose the bridge, I don't think we'd have much of a chance anyway.”

 “That's another problem,” he said. “Lieutenant Kibaki is a good man, but he's a little passive to be a department head. I'm going to have to do a lot of the heavy lifting there, I think.” He paused, then said, “I take it you're considering him as a placeholder.”

 Nodding, she replied, “That's vaguely my idea, yes. He's perfectly capable of the day-to-day work as long as there is someone to give him the big picture stuff, and there's no more experienced watch officer in the Fleet. It boiled down that he either had to accept a promotion or leave the service, and it actually took me quite a while to talk him into staying.”

 “Just so you know that we have a bit of a weak spot there.”

 “What about Powell?”

 With a deep sigh, Nelyubov said, “The Anti-Kibaki. Combining Astrogation and Science was logical enough when Lieutenant Carpenter moved on, but he's really pushing. A lot of the people he brought on board don't have any deep space experience at all, and to hear them talk, we're on a purely science mission.”

 “I wish we were,” she replied.

 “So do I, but we're on a military reconnaissance mission, and science has to come second. Though I have a feeling that he worked out our course to make sure that we had some interesting times along the way. He's not being shy about head-hunting from other departments, as well. I've had to referee a few bouts with Jack Quinn over the last week or so, especially with the new personnel. I think we're in a state of aggressive neutrality at the moment.” 

 “Marshall kept on expanding Quinn's little empire,” Orlova said. “Computer Security, Maintenance, Engineering. I think he was considering dumping the shuttles under his direction as well.”

 “I'd suggest breaking it up a little,” Nelyubov said. “We've got a couple of Sub-Lieutenants who can take on a reformed Maintenance department, for a start. Reporting to Quinn. It's not that I think he can't handle the load he has at the moment, but I think we need to open up the org chart.” Glancing down at his datapad, he added, “Salazar, Duquesne, Bradley all seem fine. As does what passes for Harper's department, but she's only got a couple of people working for her.”

 “I'm surprised Doctor Duquesne let you look over her department without a fight,” Orlova said, trying to suppress a smile.

 “Who said she didn't? Still, she runs Medical pretty well, I've got to admit. And she's happy to train more paramedics for us. Gave me a list of half a dozen she'd recommend.”

 “To put it briefly,” Orlova said, “You want to reshape two major departments, and you aren't happy with the chain of commander under, where, Powell?” 

 With a nod, he replied, “He doesn't want it, but if the worst happened, I'm pretty sure he could command the ship. He has been an Executive Officer in the past, though only for a few weeks. Below that, well, Jack would probably get the ship home, but I'd be nervous if we had to go that far down.” A smile crept across his face as he added, “Of course, this isn't really our problem. If we're worrying about them taking command, the two of us are almost certainly dead.”

 “I think we can shelve that one for a while,” Orlova said. “Though perhaps giving Cantrell a little bridge time might not be a bad idea. See what she can do. If she's serious about switching to the regular Fleet. I'd like to see if we can arrange something for Bradley, as well, and maybe Salazar.” She looked around, then said, “All of this seems so damn weird, Frank.”

 “Oh?”

 “Commanding a ship. And not just for a few days or weeks, keeping the seat warm for someone else. Every time I go into my cabin, I feel like I'm intruding. Captain Marshall's quarters, Captain Marshall's desk.” She paused, then added, “Captain Marshall's ship.”

 “Well, Captain Marshall is now Commodore Marshall, and this is Captain Orlova's ship. Hell, you think you've got it bad. Two years I've served on Alamo, and this is the first time I actually have a permanent assignment. Acting Security, Acting Tactical, Acting Operations. About the only job I haven't covered is Ship's Cook.”

 “If you want a transfer...”

 “God, no.” He looked across at her, and said, “All I'm trying to tell you is that I know exactly what you are going through.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “This isn't like Phaeton. A year out in deep space, without support, no logistic reinforcement, vague sailing orders...”

 “And a crew that both knows you and trusts you,” Nelyubov said. “You've even done this before, on Hercules. Your instincts are good, Maggie. All you have to do is listen to them.”

 A light on her desk flashed, and she tapped the control next to it, saying, “Captain here. Go ahead.” 

 “Five minutes until emergence,” Cantrell said. “I've already called Senior Lieutenant Powell as well, and Lieutenant Kibaki is standing by in Auxiliary Control.”

 “Very good,” she replied. “Bring the ship to battle stations. I'm on my way.”

 “Aye, ma'am.” Sirens began to sound as Orlova rose to her feet, stepping around her desk, with one last glance at the chair behind it.

 “Coming, Frank?” she asked.

 “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 They stepped out onto the bridge, a hive of activity as the duty crew raced to bring their systems to battle readiness, running through long checklists, flicking switches and tapping buttons. Orlova stepped to the central holotable, Nelyubov already starting to bring up what little they knew of the system they were approaching, and she looked from station to station, watching the crew at their posts. Spinelli at sensors, Weitzman at communications, both long-standing veterans.

 Petty Officer Erickson stood over the shoulder of the newest member of the crew, Senior Spaceman Mackenzie, promoted to the bridge after impressing Senior Lieutenant Quinn, on his way to command of a damage control team. Forward, Cantrell and Harper were hastily bringing the tactical systems on-line, the occasional glance between them betraying barely-concealed mistrust.

 At the front of the bridge, Sub-Lieutenant Foster sat at the helm, running her hands over her controls, the only crewman not reacting to the alert. She'd already set up for the return to normal space, and until they re-entered their home dimension, there was nothing she could do except wait.

 “You have the call,” Orlova said, moving to stand behind her.

 Glancing up, Foster replied, “Aye, ma'am. I have the call.”

 “All decks are at battle readiness,” Nelyubov said. “Two minutes, thirty seconds. Not bad.”

 “Let's hope it is an unnecessary precaution,” Orlova said. “Spinelli, I want a full sensor sweep as soon as we arrive. We know next-to-nothing about this system, so make sure to make it comprehensive.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 “That isn't exactly true,” a new voice said, the gray-haired Powell stepping through the elevator door onto the bridge. “The Sentinel Quarter-Mile Scope took a good look at this system forty years ago, and we still have all of that data. If it is even remotely accurate, we'll be emerging at a double planet.” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Should be very interesting. I've already prepared a probe deployment schedule, and I'll be wanting to arrange landing parties as soon as possible.”

 “One thing at a time, Professor,” Nelyubov said. “The natives might be hostile.”

 “Thirty seconds to egress,” Foster said. “Anything I need to know about?”

 “Only that there are lots of points of stability here,” Powell said. “More than a dozen moons large enough to trigger them, orbiting a common center of gravity.”

 “Ten seconds,” Foster said. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

 With a blinding blue flash, Alamo raced back into normal space, sliding through the dimensional portal into the unexplored system. The viewscreen flicked on, a planet appearing dead-center, a sea of green and ocher swirls in a tempestuous atmosphere. The tactical display winked on, the ship struggling to incorporate the new data to its projections. Over to the right, there was a second world, far more hospitable, greens, blues and browns, huge ice caps reaching down well towards the equator. Beyond, a series of small moons, some large enough to show up as spheres on the screen, others barely large enough to register on the sensor display.

 “Threat warning!” Spinelli yelled. “Two incoming craft, engaged in battle.”

 “Are you sure?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Missiles in flight, half a dozen of them, and a shuttle that looks a little like a Republic boarding shuttle. Similar profile. Heading directly to the other craft.” 

 Turning to the desk, Orlova said, “Let's take a look. Put them up on the monitor. Foster, prepare an intercept course, but don't do anything to implement it yet.”

 Images of the two ships flashed up on the holodisplay, slowly revolving, the details growing sharper and more defined as the sensors gathered data on their targets. The first ship was obviously utilitarian, though with wings that suggested that it was atmosphere-capable. Blocky, with twin engines at the rear, it looked a little like a scaled-up version of a heavy transport shuttle.

 The other, the attacking ship, was beautiful. Thin, spindly arms connected to a huge solar sail, constant adjustments to keep it on course, pinpoint thrusters to orient it. It looked as though a spider was latched onto its web, being tossed across the void. The missiles it was firing were slender, small-yield warheads, lancing across space towards their target.

 “Neither are any threat to Alamo,” Cantrell said. “I see four missile tubes on the attacking craft, and no sign of any defensive systems at all on the other one, though their pilot is obviously doing his best to dodge.” Shaking her head, she added, “I've never seen a solar sail craft of that size before. Seems an odd choice for an aggressive vessel.”

 “Not necessarily,” Powell replied. “They could be guided to their position with lasers. Basically, they've left their engine at home.”

 “Later,” Orlova said. “Any activity from either craft?” She looked back at the tactical display, watching the assault shuttle as it closed the remaining distance towards the craft. In a few moments, any decision she would make would be moot.

 Weitzman turned, then said, “We're getting a signal from the unarmed craft, ma'am. In English.”

 “Another lost colony?” Nelyubov asked. “Or have they met people from Earth before?”

 “Put them on.”

 “Audio only,” Weitzman said, flicking a switch. A loud crackle erupted over the ceiling speaks, drowning everything else out, as he struggled to strengthen the signal. “Got it, ma'am.”

 “This is Freighter Twenty-Two to unidentified vessel. We call for your assistance against the pirates that seek our destruction. We are a civilian craft on our way to pick up supplies vital for our survival. Thousands will die if we are delayed.”

 Nelyubov frowned, and said, “We can sit this one out, Captain. Until we know what the situation is in this system, that might be the safest course.”

 “And watch an unarmed ship be destroyed?” she replied. “I can't do it.” Strapping on a headset, she said, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. We stand ready to assist you. Try and keep clear of the missiles for a couple of minutes.”

 “We'll do what we can,” the voice, audibly relieved, replied. “Twenty-Two out.”

 “Take us into the fire,” Orlova said. “Extend radiators and stand-by for a laser blast. Cantrell, how long before we're in firing range?”

 “Sixty-nine seconds,” she replied. “If we knock out the sail, they won't be a threat any more.  Should be an easy kill.”

 Spinelli frowned, and said, “That will put them into a high orbit. They don't have escape velocity from the larger of the two planets.” He nodded, and said, “They'll be retrievable without too much trouble.”

 “Hail them, Weitzman. Warn them off. And Cantrell, I want a warning shot before we do any serious damage to them.”

 “Understood,” she said. “I'll send some missiles their way. Give them some fun.”

 Orlova looked at the tactical display, watching the action unfold. The transport was curving around, heading towards them, and the pirate ship was doing its best to follow, swinging around in their direction, still throwing their missiles out. The reload rate was impressive, far faster than Alamo, enough that she doubted they had combat fabricators on board. More likely they were using an arsenal, but in a short engagement, that could be a serious advantage.

 “I can't get through, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “I don't think they're listening.”

 “Let's try a different sort of language, then,” Orlova said. “Fire at will, Cantrell.”

 “Aye,” she said, tapping a series of controls. Alamo rocked back as half a dozen missiles, a complete salvo, raced away towards the enemy craft, their course demonstrating more acrobatics than strictly necessary, as though Cantrell was a salesman trying to convince a client to make a purchase. Nelyubov looked at the display, frowning for a second, before his eyes widened and he raced for the helm.

 “Evasive, now! Lateral thrust!”

 Foster's hands obeyed his command while her eyes were still questioning it, and Alamo soared up, reaching for a new trajectory, sliding away from the enemy craft. Before Orlova could ask him what he was doing, a brief pinprick of light lanced forward from some distant point, narrowly missing Alamo, catching the enemy craft on its sail. Alamo could only sustain a burst like that for a short time, a few milliseconds, but this was sustained, and the pirate ship began to accelerate, moving away from the two ships.

 “Lower power than Alamo,” Nelyubov said, turning back towards Orlova. “It'd still do serious damage if it hit us.”

 “Can we damage it with the laser?” Foster asked. “If it's reflecting...”

 “As I said, the power is a lot lower,” Nelyubov replied. “Nevertheless, we've got the missiles in the air, so we might as well get some use out of them.”

 “Cantrell, forget the warning shot. I want that ship disabled.”

 “Aye, aye, ma'am,” she replied, working her controls, twisting the course of the missiles to converge on the solar sail, working to keep them clear of the laser beam. The transport, almost forgotten, lurched to the side in an attempt to leave the combat area, but two of the enemy missiles finally caught up with it, smashing into its midsection, two angry gouges in its hull that spilled air out into space, tossing it around until the pilot was able to bring it back under control.

 At the transport struggled to recover, Alamo's missiles swept into the theater, dodging around the ship to smash into its solar sail, twisting it into a million tiny fragments that briefly glittered before dispersing into infinity. The beam ceased thirty seconds later, the operators realizing that the battle was lost.

 “They're out of combat range,” Spinelli said. “No chance that they can get back into it any time soon, either. Their orbit won't bring them back this way for twenty-one days.” Glancing across at a panel, he said, “Looks like their boarding shuttle is about to dock with the transport.”

 “Someone's jamming their signal,” Weitzman added. “I can't raise them.”

 Tapping a control, Orlova said, “Cooper, get a squad into the air and secure that ship. Move quickly. I don't think you have long.” Glancing at Nelyubov, she added, “I guess we've chosen sides.”

 “Agreed,” he replied. “In what, I wonder.”

Chapter 3

 Cooper sprinted towards the waiting shuttle, half his squad already loading their equipment on board, with the remainder hard on his heels, boots clanging against metal. Sergeant Gurung, fuming at being left behind, was engaged in hasty conversation with the other squad leaders, Corporal Hunt busy corralling the last of the troopers on board.

 “Come on, come on!” Hunt yelled. “What are you idle bastards waiting for? You want to live forever? Rhodes, what's the damned hold-up?”

 “Coming, Corp,” the wayward trooper said, limping with one of his boots askew on his foot, a rucksack dropping from his back by a single strap. Cooper gave him a withering glare before following him onto the shuttle, quickly glancing around to make sure everyone was in position.

 “All equipment stowed,” Hunt said, answering the question he had yet to ask. “The pilot says that we're ready for take off.”

 “Then let's get going,” he said, tapping a control. “Aft section to cockpit. We're ready to go.”

 “Finally,” his wife said. “I've got launch clearance, so hang on to your hats! There's still some active ordnance out there, so I might need to do some fancy maneuvers.”

 A smile on his face, he said, “Can't I get any time for myself, darling?”

 “You think I'm going to let you have all the fun? Strap in.”

 Cooper slid down onto his couch, pulling his restraints into position, and the elevator airlock jerked into life, sending them sliding down through the decks, the atmosphere draining back into the ship's reservoirs as the lower door opened, dropping them free. Alamo loomed large above them, some celestial whale releasing its offspring, and he heard the rumble of the main engine as it kicked them towards their goal.

 These new shuttles were a lot more cramped than the ones he was used to, but they certainly had the edge on speed, and already they seemed to be making serious progress along their course trajectory. He looked down at his datapad, scanning over the limited information they had. More than enough to worry him, but far too little for him to be able to do anything about it. No deck-plan, no threat analysis, no intelligence reports. Just a simple mission objective, to secure the transport.

 “Listen up,” he said, looking around the cabin. “We're on the run with this one, and we don't have anything to prepare us for what we are facing. Remember that we're assuming there are survivors on board, and we expect someone to be waiting for us when we arrive, so don't get trigger-happy. Tactical deployment, and only shoot if you are fired upon.”

 “And if one of our friends does the shooting?” Private Lopez asked. One of the new recruits, recently transferred to his platoon, but a veteran with combat experience in the last war, fifteen years older than the rest. Cooper was surprised that he hadn't been brought in as a non-com, his record not giving him any clue. Maybe it was that cold look in his eyes.

 “That's their problem,” Cooper said. “Don't take any chances. We've got to secure that ship. If someone shoots at you, fire back, but shoot to disable. We're fighting normal humans, we believe, so you know their weak spots. Exploit them.” Glancing up at the weapons locker, he said, “Stick to low-velocity and non-lethal weapons only, and only smoke and tranq grenades. The ship's already been beaten up, and we don't want to make things worse.”

 “We going on in suits?” Hunt asked.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Our readings suggest that there is a breathable atmosphere over there. Nevertheless, Lopez and Yaskova will suit up and wait in the shuttle. Reinforcements if we need them, and I want a force ready to go out onto the hull if needed. Understood?”

 “Yes, sir,” Yaskova replied, a beaming smile on her face. She'd topped her class in zero-gravity combat, and always relished a chance to show off. Lopez simply nodded, a frown on his face, maybe a trace of a scowl. Something else to file away for future reference.

 “Closing now,” Bradley said, her voice echoing over the loudspeakers. “I've got the first shock for you. The airlock is UN-type. Old, but a standard fit. We're not going to have to use the mating collar, I can just dock as normal.”

 “Interesting,” Cooper said. “Bear that in mind, people, and keep an eye out for anything you recognize. If you have a chance to gather some intelligence, do it, but don't forget we're going into a battle. That takes first priority.” Pulling off his straps, he moved over to the airlock, gesturing for Rhodes to stand next to him. The private's eyes widened for a second, before he rose to his feet and pulled down his rifle. 

 Hunt frowned for a second before taking up a position behind him. Rhodes might be a pain in the ass, and had no chance of ever even threatening a promotion, but his reflexes were sharp and his aim good, both qualities that were essential in a boarding action. Cooper pulled out his pistol, spending the last few seconds before contact checking the clip for the third time, making sure it was ready to fire.

 With a loud clang, the shuttle locked onto the side of the transport, and the pressure began to equalize with the other ship, a loud hiss of air filling the vacuum. The monitor light winked three times, then finally flicked green, and the two doors slid open. A foul smell greeted them, and Cooper wrinkled his nose as he stepped through, a man wearing a turquoise uniform waiting for them in the corridor.

 “You from Alamo?” he asked. 

 “Ensign Cooper. I have a squad with me.”

 “Good. I'm Captain Zaruk, commander of this craft. We've got enemies in the engineering sections, lower habitation and propulsion control.” He frowned for a second, then said, “The bridge, I think you would call it.”

 Glancing back, Cooper said, “Get in here, everyone. Deploy by fire teams.” Turning to Zaruk, he continued, “We're going to need guides. My people don't know this ship, and we don't know the crew.”

 “I assumed as much. I have people waiting at the terminus to the main corridor.” A smile creeping across his face, he added, “After all, we didn't really know whether you were friendly or not. I didn't want them to take the risk.”

 Cooper liked the man already. “Unless there is a good reason, we'll leave the habitation level until last. I have two fire teams and reinforcements with me, which means two targets. Corporal Hunt?” 

 “Sir?” the veteran replied, moving up.

 “You'll take engineering, I'll take the bridge. First one finished moves on to habitation, unless they decide to surrender and save us the trouble.”

 “No danger of that,” Zaruk said. “Take it from me, these bastards won't surrender. One way or another, they are all dead men. Or we are, depending on who wins.” Private Danus, the Neander assigned to the squad, was the last man out of the shuttle, and the freighter captain took a step backward when he saw him. “What the hell is that?”

 “One of my more experienced troopers,” Cooper replied. “From a planet known as Thule, not far from your own. Is this going to be a problem?”

 “I just…,” he paused, then continued, “I never met an alien before.” 

 “You still haven't,” Danus said. “I'm as human as you are.”

 “We can settle this later,” Cooper said. “If you want to take us to your guides, we'll get this over with. Have you managed to lock down the systems?”

 “Temporarily, at least,” Zaruk said, still flashing glances at Danus. “They can probably over-ride it given time, but by then I would expect that we would have all of this cleared up.”

 “Good.”

 Two more crewmen were waiting in the corridor, one of them with his arm in a sling, wearing a flight jacket. Zaruk gestured them forward, and they edged towards the group, both visibly gawking at the Neander.

 “Flight Officer Tarak and Technical Supervisor Ortok,” he said. “Tarak, you will take Ensign Cooper's group to propulsion control.” The wounded man nodded. “I will accompany you, Ortok, with the other group, to engineering.”

 “Are you up to this?” Cooper asked, looking at Tarak.

 “I'll manage,” he replied. “I'd shake your hand, but that might be a little difficult. Two decks up, then a long corridor towards the front of the ship, I'm afraid. Not much in the way of cover.”

 “Enemy weapons?”

 “Nerve guns only,” Tarak replied. “Though you really don't want to get hit by one. Trust me. Some knives, weapons like that, as well.”

 “Slavers as well as pirates,” Zaruk said. “They will take us back to their bases and work us until we die. Trust me, Ensign, I know these bastards of old. This is not the first time I have fought them.”

 “Maybe we can do something about that,” Cooper said. “Lead the way, Flight Officer.”

 Nodding, Tarak headed off down the deck, swinging one-handed from handholds in the ceiling, while Cooper, Danus and Rhodes followed him, weapons at the ready. The ship looked oddly familiar, panels and boards that reminded him of the old ships he had trained on in Basic, though with strange, alien additions that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.

 “You'll have to excuse the Captain,” Tarak said, kicking into a shaft that opened in the side of the corridor. “He's old Fleet, retired to the Merchant Guild. Takes a while to knock the soldier off.”

 “And you?”

 “Oh, I'm a trader born and bred. I've served on this ship my whole career, just like my mother and grandfather before me.”

 A sound of rattling came from above, and Cooper pushed into the lead, aiming his pistol to cover their entrance. A face peered over, and he fired, the recoil hurling him back into the mass of troops behind him, Danus barely bracing himself in time to stop them tumbling down to the lower deck. The scream from above told him that he had hit his target, and Cooper kicked off again, reaching the top in seconds, pushing the body of the pirate out of the way.

 Three figures were hastily trying to assemble a blockade in the corridor, but Cooper's fire team moved first, swimming out into the corridor and taking their shots, a trio of cracks echoing around the walls, each one felling a target. Tarak looked at them, wide-eyed, and shook his head.

 “I've never seen anything like it,” he said.

 “We've had a lot of practice,” Rhodes replied.

 “Far too much,” Cooper added. “In there?”

 Nodding, Tarak pushed through the half-completed barricade, careful to avoid the moaning, wounded pirates, droplets of blood catching on his jumpsuit as he reached the panel. He entered an access code, cursed, and turned around.

 “They've sealed it.”

 “Emergency override?”

 “That's what I just tried. It should open automatically when a deck-rated crewman approaches.” He looked up, tugged at a pair of dangling wires, and said, “Looks like they took out the sensor.”

 “We'll have to blast it,” Cooper said. “Get back behind the barricade, all of you. We might as well use all the cover we can find.”

 “Wait a minute,” Tarak said. “What happens if you damage the ship? There's already enough mess in the lower levels. We've got to complete our mission.”

 “Alamo will help you with the clean-up,” Cooper said, turning to the reluctant crewman. “Right now, this isn't your ship. The pirates have taken it, and I'm trying to get it back for you. Unless you would rather we gave up on this and went back to Alamo.”

 “Just...just be careful. We might not be able to repair the damage.”

 “Relax,” Rhodes said, pulling the wounded man back. “The officer knows what he is doing.”

 Reaching into a pocket, Cooper pulled out an off-white mass, slapping it onto the middle of the hatch, rolling it along the weakest point, before sliding a detonator into position behind it. Rhodes and Danus watched as he worked, guns at the ready in case someone decided to try an ambush. Finally, he nodded.

 “Ten seconds. Keep down. And go in shooting when the dust settles.”

 With a loud report, the explosive went off, shattering the door into twisted, molten metal. Cooper glanced down at his monitors, checking that there was no decompression, while Rhodes took a blind shot into the bridge, firing at a shadow that might have been an enemy. Pushing off, Cooper led the way into the room, careful to avoid the remnants of the door, pistol in hand.

 Waiting for him was a single, quiet figure, looking down at a pair of shattered corpses by the door, riddled with shrapnel. He looked up as Cooper approached, raising his gun with quiet determination, but Danus was first, taking the man down with a carefully placed shot to the shoulder.

 “Get in here and check out the systems,” Cooper said, pulling out his communicator. “Hunt, what's your status?”

 “Looks bad down here, sir,” the grizzled trooper said. “They've got a cross-fire set up, and I haven't got the numbers to work around it.” There was a pause, and he yelled, “Get down, you damn fool!”

 “You need us, Corporal?”

 “I won't say no, sir.”

 “We're on the way.”

 Mitzi looked around the bridge, aghast, and said, “I don't even know where to begin.”

 “Basic ship functions, and work from there. Do you want me to leave someone behind to guard the room?”

 “It sounds as though you need all the help you can get below decks. The shaft we were in before, three decks down. There are two ways into Engineering, and that should take you into the aft entrance. There's a storeroom, which might give you some cover.”

 “Got it,” Cooper said. “Come on, let's move!”

 Hand over hand he swung down the corridor, dropping into the shaft with barely a second glance, quickly sliding a replacement clip into his pistol, tucking the half-used one into his pocket. He wouldn't have a chance to reload in the middle of a firefight, but there wasn't any sense throwing away good ammunition either.

 The bottom level was dark, the lights either flickering or dead entirely. For a second he thought it must have been sabotage, but at closer inspection, it looked more like poor maintenance. Systems had been stripped out, and someone had done a very careful job to make sure nothing else was damaged in the process.

 All the walls were covered in writing, some of it English, others in a language he couldn't understand, something totally unfamiliar. He glanced back at Danus, who shook his head. Definitely not a Neander dialect. He took a guess, tapping a control to open a door, and was rewarded with a half-empty room, scattered crates around, well-worn tools strapped to equipment racks, spare components all secured in their stowage. 

 “Danus, Rhodes, left and right.” He gestured at one of the crates, and said, “I'll take cover here. Get ready.” Pulling out his communicator, he said, “Corporal, we're set on the far side of Engineering. Give them something to think about for a few seconds, and we'll go in shooting.”

 “Will do, sir. Ten seconds, mark.”

 “Mark. Out.”

 He waited at the door, taking deep breaths, counting down the seconds. Ten seconds before Hunt began his attack, maybe another fifteen to allow it to take effect, then they would go in. Rhodes raised his pistol, holding his hand over the control, ready to activate it on his command.

 “Wait for it,” Cooper said. “Wait for it.” Cracks and blasts sounded through the door, barked orders in a strange, alien tongue, and he glanced down at his watch, counting seconds. “Now!”

 Rhodes tapped a button, and the door slammed open, revealing half a dozen men – no women, he hadn't seen any so far – inside, all wearing identical gray jumpsuits, each carrying the same unfamiliar weapon. On instinct, Cooper fired, his first shot taking one of them in the shoulder, Rhodes and Danus both felling their targets, catching them completely by surprise.

 The remaining pirates dived into the nearest cover, one of them heading to what looked suspiciously like a power distribution board, and one that appeared active and working. Without a second thought, Cooper dived forward, determined to reach the man before he could wreak havoc with the ship, firing a round into his leg, the recoil sending him careening into the middle of the corridor. Danus reached out for him, trying to snatch him back, but it was too late. One of the pirates leveled his gun at him, and fired.

 All of his nerves felt as though they were on fire, and he yelled a desperate scream, wracked with spasms of pain, before the world began to fade to black. Just as his eyes closed, he saw his assailant felled with a shot to the chest, blood erupting into the cabin, globules spinning through air.

 “Sir?” a voice yelled, lost in the distance. “Sir?” Fainter it grew, fading to nothing, as everything finally faded to merciful darkness.

 Chapter 4

 Salazar floated through the airlock, looking down at the stretcher carrying Cooper, being cautiously pushed along the corridor by Specialist Gidzenko. As far as he could tell, the Espatier was simply asleep, and he thought he could hear the low rumble of a snore.

 “How is he?” Salazar asked.

 “I don't think any permanent damage has been done,” the medic replied, “but until we get him over to Alamo's sickbay, we won't know for sure.”

 A wounded man in a turquoise uniform drifted forward, and said, “You'll find he recovers quite quickly. I expect by now he simply is asleep, and should wake up in a matter of hours. The nerve gun is a nasty little weapon, but is designed not to cause any long-term damage. I take it you are Ensign Salazar?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, actually. Security Officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo,” he replied. “I've brought a damage control team to help out. I'll be acting as your liaison for the present. Are you Captain Zaruk?”

 “Alas no,” Tarak said. “He managed to get himself shot during the recapture of Engineering. It's usually best not to disturb someone hit by a nerve gun unless you have to, so he and the others might as well sleep for now.” He sighed, then added, “Some of them won't be waking up any time soon, I'm afraid.” 

 “Lombardo,” Salazar said, turning back to the open hatch. “Take everyone down to the engine levels and see what you can do to help out. Contact Alamo if you need any more components.”

 “Aye, sir,” the technician replied, looking around. “What a mess.”

 “You should see Propulsion Control,” Tarak replied. “In fact, that might be a good place for you to start. Two levels up, shaft at the end of the corridor. Technical Supervisor Ortok is trying to put the pieces back together. You can report to him.”

 “Right,” Lombardo said. “Fitzroy, Bartlett, make sure we don't forget any of the tool-kits.”

 “I take it you are not helping with the repair,” Tarak said, as Salazar drifted clear of the bustle.

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “My job is to prepare a report, to evaluate the status of your ship. We're here to help, so if you have any requirements, just let me know.”

 “That, and you want to take a good look around the ship, and get the answers to a long list of questions. I'd be doing exactly the same in the circumstances.” He sighed, and said, “I haven't got any objection as long as the repairs are expedited. Our mission is of paramount importance. I take it my government has been contacted?”

 “Captain Orlova is seeing to that right now.”

 Frowning, Tarak replied, “Strange to see a woman in a command role. And I saw several in the assault team you sent over. Is that normal where you come from?”

 “Just under half the crew of Alamo is female,” Salazar said.

 “Amazing.” Pausing, the pilot said, “Don't get me wrong, I'm liberal enough, but doesn't it put them in excess danger?”

 “I think we might have missed a few steps,” Salazar replied, frowning. “You've talked about your mission. What are you carrying?”

 “Nothing, at the moment, but we have essential supplies to pick up.” He drifted over to the corridor, tapped a button, and a door opened, releasing a foul stench into the air that made Salazar want to throw up. He looked at Tarak, ashen-faced.

 “What the hell is that stink? Was your waste reclamation system damaged?”

 “No, that's about half of our cargo as a rule. We've picking up a mixed load this run, phosphorous, wood and manure.” He paused, then added, “Animal feces. You never can get rid of the smell. We can't store it in vacuum, it'd kill the bacteria. You get used to it after a while.”

 “I'm scared to ask what you use them for.”

 “Our agricultural systems require them.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Why not use chemical fertilizers? This must cost a fortune in haulage, to say nothing of the logistical problems.”

 Tarak looked down at the deck, and replied, “We prefer it this way. Think of it as a cultural eccentricity. In any case, we need to get moving, and soon. Our stocks back in Skybase are running low. We've already lived through a couple of famines. I don't want to see another.”

 “Why not grow crops on the planet, then? According to our readings, it's at least borderline-inhabitable, and if you're harvesting the...manure...down there, I would have thought that it would be more logical to simply produce the food on the surface.”

 “Live on a planet? In air? Bad enough that I have to visit it every couple of months, but the thought of actually stepping through an airlock without a spacesuit? Abhorrent.”

 With a sigh, Salazar said, “Maybe we should get to the next point.” His communicator buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket, saying, “Go ahead.”

 “Lombardo here. I've got a long list of components were going to need. How far are we taking this? Patch-up to get it down to the planet, or a full repair?”

 “That was fast work.”

 “All the stuff is UN-based, sir. Old. We've got all the templates in stock back on the ship. Hell, I've worked on these systems before, though you'd only see most of it in a museum.”

 “Go with a temporary patch for now,” he replied. “For the rest, we'll have to consult with their government. I understand this ship is in a hurry.”

 “Aye, sir. Bridge out.”

 “You're going to want a more detailed explanation, aren't you,” Tarak said. “Come on. My cabin is on this deck, and we might as well be comfortable. And private.” He pushed off down the corridor, and after a pause, Salazar followed, looking around the corridor. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see numerous familiar features, light fittings to data terminals, but there were a lot of unfamiliar components as well, the purpose of which he couldn't even guess at.

 Tarak's quarters had the same echoes of home, with a sleeping bag strapped to the wall that could have come from Alamo's emergency supplies. He pulled a pair of bottles filled with purple liquid out of a compartment, tossing one across to him.

 “Talya Juice. I think you'll like it.”

 Looking at the bottle, he replied, “I don't think my commanding officer would approve of drinking on duty.”

 Confusion reigned on the pilot's face, before his eyes widened, and he replied, “It's just fruit juice. Not alcoholic.” Shaking his head, he said, “I'd love to take a look at your ship some time. Or taste alcohol. My grandfather used to tell me stories of High Vegas, the bars, the drinks, the food.”

 “Then you came from Earth?” Salazar asked, settling back against the wall. He pulled out the nozzle and took an experimental squeeze. The juice was fruity, almost sickly-sweet, but had a pleasant enough after-taste. He took another gulp while Tarak punched controls, bringing up a picture that looked a little like the second planet in the system, though far lusher, ice caps only a fraction of the size.

 “We came from Earth originally, but that was tens of thousands of years ago. It was only within the last millennium that we realized we were not born here, on Arcadia, and the last doubt was dispelled when the ship from Earth arrived. That was later, though. Just over four hundred years ago, Arcadia was destroyed by the Cataclysm.” He tapped a control, and the image of the world changed, replaced by a more recent view. “The world was rendered uninhabitable in a day.”

 “What happened?” Salazar asked, quietly.

 “The records are confused on that. The only survivors, at least, the only organized survivors, were those living in the space settlements at the time, mostly in Skybase, on the other world in our little two-planet system. That is where the remains of our civilization live, aside from the raiders that attack our ships.” He shook his head, and said, “Outlaws, living in the outer rocks, stealing our food and supplies to survive.”

 “I still don't see why you don't move back down to the planet,” Salazar said. “It looks as though it is recovering from whatever happened. Everything seems green down there.”

 “You can take that up with our leaders,” the pilot replied, “but there are good reasons to stay where we are. Our system works, Sub-Lieutenant, and we survive. To an extent, we prosper.” He sighed, then said, “Though I would like to see Earth, I admit. I'm one-quarter UN, which is why I speak English. Eighty years ago, one of your ships reached this world, a long-range exploration vessel, the Wayfarer. It was badly damaged, many of the crew dead, the engine crippled, but it was decades ahead of everything we had access to. Naturally, we learned what they had to teach, and incorporated many of their technological innovations into our own vessels.”

 “And the crew?” 

 Tarak paused for a moment, taking another drink from his flask, before replying, “They joined us. The star-drive was destroyed, and we had no way of repairing it. They couldn't go home, and they had so much to teach us here. My grandfather was a propulsion engineer.” With a smile, he added, “He served on this ship for twenty years.”

 “This ship is sixty years old?” Salazar asked, his mouth wide. 

 Shaking his head, the pilot replied, “This ship dates back to the Cataclysm. They built to last, in those days.” With a sigh, he said, “She's a hell of a vessel, with a proud and courageous history. This isn't even the first pirate raid she's seen off.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Not that it isn't getting worse. They're getting bolder now. This is the first time we've been attacked while flying to Arcadia. Normally they go after our lunar shuttles.”

 “I guess we arrived just in time, then.”

 “We'd better go and take a look at the bridge,” Tarak said, stowing his bottle carefully away. Salazar looked more closely around the cabin, a patchwork of items, with little in the way of personal possessions in evidence. A small box labeled as 'Genuine Martian Rock', a worn flight jacket, and a collection of broken circuit components, framed and labeled in the same unintelligible language.

 “How long have you been serving on board?” he asked.

 “Since I was fourteen,” he replied, then added. “We don't believe in retaining anything for ourselves that can possibly be used for the common good. All resources must be centralized, or we will falter. Everyone follows the same strictures.” Looking at the items on the shelf, he added, “Though no-one objects to a few possessions, if they are of no other use. Most of them belonged to my grandfather.”

 “Who was he?” Salazar asked

 “Lieutenant-Commander Miles Kazinski,” he replied. “Why?”

 “I might be able to find out more about him for you. We've got a complete archive in our databanks. Perhaps a picture, or something like that?”

 “No need,” Tarak said, shaking his head. “Don't go to any trouble. I have all the memories I need right here.” He tapped his head, then pushed out of the room. Salazar cautiously glanced at his datapad, and smiled. Every detail had been recorded, and by now was being analyzed on Alamo. His smile then turned into a frown. If their roles had been reversed, he would have assumed that the conversation was being recorded, and would have taken precautions to prevent anything he said being misused.

 Pushing his concerns away, he followed the pilot down the corridor, swinging up the long shaft towards the bridge. Everything he saw was meticulously maintained, but he couldn't see any of the usual safety cut-outs, emergency overrides. They had to have total faith in their systems, though if the ship had kept going for four centuries, by now presumably such confidence would be justified.

 Then he paused for a moment, looking at a gap where a piece of unidentifiable equipment had been neatly removed. The connection he did recognize, a link up to an internal sensor system. Probably an atmospheric detector, maybe a heat sensor. Part of the critical safety infrastructure, and someone had decided to remove it.

 “Problem?” Tarak yelled, looking down.

 “Status update from the ship,” he lied. “Nothing important, unless you like paperwork.”

 “Love it,” the pilot replied. “The regulations are very clear on that.”

 As he swung up to the top deck, Salazar continued to ponder. Everywhere was more evidence to support his suspicions. This ship was being run on the thinnest of margins, and while she was being beautifully cared for in almost every respect, it was evident that they were cannibalizing where they could, scavenging for parts and components.

 Had a freighter back home been found in this condition, it would have been instantly condemned as unsafe, the operators subjected to mammoth fines for placing their crew in such a dangerous situation. If, by some miracle, someone had offered to bring the ship to full operation, without imposing such a penalty, they'd have accepted without a second thought.

 Drifting onto the bridge, he saw Lombardo and Fitzroy already at work, gently removing a shattered panel, while other technicians removed the remnants of the blast door, carefully gathering every fragment of metal as though they were holy relics. Bartlett looked up from the communications console, shaking his head.

 “It's a total write-off, sir. Even if I could repair this console, the exterior antenna was shot to pieces, and they don't have any spares on board.”

 “Could we get the material from Alamo?”

 “No!” one of the technicians, wearing a darker uniform, said, looking at Tarak. “We cannot give classified information to anyone, no matter how helpful they appear to me. With such intelligence, they could access our entire communications network.”

 “May I introduce Technical Supervisor Ortok, Sub-Lieutenant,” Tarak said. “The alternative is to have no long-range communications ability at all.”

 “Well, I can't fix it with what I have here, that's for certain,” Bartlett said. “There's no point even trying. I'd better get to the internal systems. Those I might be able to piece together.”

 “What do you think, Lombardo?” Salazar asked.

 “I am in charge here,” Ortok said. “Repairs will be completed in due course.”

 “Due course?” Lombardo said. “What the hell does that mean? Sir, we need two shuttle loads from Alamo, and they ought to be with us in an hour. After that, six hours before I'll certify this ship as safe to attempt a landing on a planet.”

 “You will certify?” Ortok said, frowning. “It is not your decision, but ours.”

 “Tech, I'm sure that our new friends wouldn't stop us from resuming our journey if they did not think it necessary,” Tarak replied. “Is there no way these repairs could be expedited, Petty Officer?”

 “Not a chance, sir,” Lombardo replied. “Some jobs can only be done by one man, and those are the ones that tend to take all the time. I've already been a bit optimistic, if anything, but I think we can get it done.”

 “That isn't the only problem, anyway,” Tarak said. “We lost five men during the attack, and twelve more incapacitated. We'll struggle to operate the ship with such a reduced complement.” 

 “Maybe I can fix that,” Salazar said, pulling out his communicator, “Salazar to Alamo Actual. Come in, please.”

 “Actual here,” Orlova's voice replied. “Would you first pass on to Flight Officer Tarak that the Council are glad that the ship is in one piece, and that he is formally in command until the Captain recovers.” 

 “Will do, ma'am,” he replied. “What are your intentions?”

 “That depends on what you tell me next, Sub-Lieutenant. We've been invited to meet with the local leaders on their Skybase, as soon as we can get there. How long to make repairs?”

 “Six hours, but we don't need Alamo for that. Once the last of the spares have been transferred across, we can finish the work ourselves and ride the freighter down to the planet, then back to Skybase.” Glancing at a smiling Tarak, he asked, “How long?”

 “In your time, about sixty hours.”

 “We can be back at Alamo in two and a half days, ma'am, and could always be picked up by shuttle if it was more urgent.”

 There was a brief pause, and Orlova replied, “I agree. Very well, Sub-Lieutenant, you and your team are detached to the Twenty-Two until it returns to Skybase, or I send someone out to pick you up. If there is anything you need, let me know.” There was another, longer break, and muttered argument in the background, before she concluded, “One more thing. Lieutenant Harper will be coming across as well to conduct an intelligence survey. Keep an eye on her. Alamo out.”

 “Don't we get a say?” Ortok asked with a sneer.

 “I do,” Tarak replied, “and I say that it is a good idea. It'll be a pleasure to serve with you, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Rubbing his hands together, Salazar replied, “Always fun to ride a new ship. I guess we'd better make sure she's fit to fly.”

Chapter 5

 “I still don't think you should go,” Nelyubov said as Orlova stepped onto the shuttle. “You are the commanding officer of this ship, which makes you too important to risk.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Frank, this isn't first landing on a hostile planet. I've been invited to meet with the leaders of a planetary government for a diplomatic discussion. I can't do this over the communicator, and I don't think we want to offend the leaders of this system on our first day here.”

 “They could come to us.”

 “Next time, they will,” she said. “This time, I'm going to make a gesture of good faith. Besides, I've got both Cooper and Cantrell with me, as well as an honor guard. And Alamo could stand-off and wipe out most of their fleet in a long afternoon. I'm pretty sure they know that.”

 With a sigh, he said, “I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

 “No,” she replied. “Maintain stand-by alert while I'm over there, and keep in communication with Sub-Lieutenant Salazar. Powell can start deploying his probe network, and when I get back, I want a full run-down on the system. Everything we can work out, including an analysis of Salazar's data.”

 “Will do,” he replied, taking a step back, clearing the elevator airlock. “Have a safe trip.”

 As the hatch closed, she sat down on the nearest couch, making sure to get a window seat. Cooper was sitting opposite her, lost in thought and a pair of Neander troopers were sitting at the front, Corporal Walpis and Private Danus. Apparently they'd made quite an impression during the boarding action, and Orlova couldn't think of a better way to demonstrate the nature of the Confederation to the Council. Cantrell was nowhere to be seen, but she peered into the cockpit to see her sitting in the co-pilot's seat, presumably hoping for a better view.

 She almost missed the slow descent through the decks, the shuttle dropping clear, the engine roaring to take them towards the planet ahead. Powell was still in the middle of his survey, but she had the impression that he was already working on the inevitable paper that would follow. A huge Super-Earth lay ahead, ten times larger than Mars, with a dense atmosphere that was breathable at the higher altitudes, far above the barren, rocky surface below.

 The shuttle dived for the planet, recklessly spilling velocity as it decelerated out of orbit. There was no sign of a space station, or any significant satellite presence, and Alamo's scans had found no trace of such activity. Unusual for an economy that was totally dependent on resource extraction from other worlds, but it seemed to fit the threadbare nature of the civilization they had encountered. Salazar's report had been very interesting, citing dozens of examples of cannibalization that he had found during the repairs, work that seemed to be taken as completely normal by the maintenance crew.

 Thick, viscous atmosphere filled the screen, swirls and eddies of tempestuous storms raging below. The shuttle was cleared for atmospheric flight up to twice Earth normal pressure, but that didn't leave a very satisfactory safety margin. She'd flown in gas giants before, but never without an extremely good reason, and always with one eye on the fuel readouts and a well-serviced engine. One mistake, one error, and you plummet out of the sky to your death, with no chance of rescue. It was even worse in this environment, with a rocky, bleak surface sixty miles below to smash into, one from where they could be no rescue, no salvation, only a slow lingering death, even if she survived the impact.

 A green light winked on, and the wingtips of the shuttle began to glow red, biting into the atmosphere, slowing them still further. The shuttle rocked from side to side, turbulence throwing them about, and the pilot struggled to compensate, to keep them on an even course. On the passenger monitor, the trajectory display was scrambled, the navigation computer reluctant to make any predictions about where they would end up, struggling with an unfamiliar atmosphere. It was a creature of space, not air, and couldn't cope outside its natural environment.

 The stars were gone now, the shuttle carving a blazing trail through the sky as it hurtled towards its destination, finally beginning to level off as they slowed, the view clearing to reveal an endless horizon, peppered with bushy clouds, a strange green sky with eddies and currents. Small gray dots dashed back and forth, and after a moment, Orlova realized that they were natural, some sort of strange creature drifting on the wind..

 “Over there!” Cooper said, pointing to the far side of the cabin, and she turned to see their destination growing closer. She'd been on aerostats before, modules slung under huge balloons to suspend them in the air, but the largest one the Triplanetary Confederation had ever built could barely sustain twenty people. This was a city, floating in the clouds, a quarter-mile across, and the engineering that it must have taken was astonishing.

 As they drew near, she could see the gantries underneath the city, frameworks were other shuttles were supported, a vacant spot for them. Whole levels were green, huge windows to admit the sunlight, lush with vegetation. At the top, there were balconies, tiny figures walking around, admiring the view.

 “Astonishing,” she said, shaking her head. “I've never seen anything like it.”

 “We're about to dock,” the pilot said over the intercom. “Don't get out of your seats until we're secure. This is going to be rather tricky.”

 As the shuttle lurched back and forth on its thrusters, slowly drifting into position, she looked around at the other docked ships. A few of them were extremely familiar, old UN designs that she recognized from her days as a shuttle pilot, a pair of bulk haulers and a trio of light tankers, all of them connected to the aerostat by a series of long tubes, disgorging their loads. The others were alien, strange designs that presumably made aerodynamic sense, but which appeared ungainly, stout, with stubby wings that barely seemed viable for the atmosphere. Given a choice, she knew which craft she would choose to fly.

 A long series of clangs resounded on the outer hull, and she looked up to see the hatch mechanism engage, the clamps locking into position, securing them to the city. It seemed strange to realize that nothing other than a titanic gas bag was holding them in position, and it took an effort to rise to her feet, scrambling over to the ladder. Cooper moved to her side, shaking his head.

 “Better let me go first, ma'am. Regardless of protocol.”

 “Ensign...”

 With a smile, he added, “Senior Lieutenant Nelyubov's orders, ma'am.”

 “I see,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “For be it for me to override my second-in-command. After you, then.” Turning to the cockpit, she saw a white-faced Cantrell step through, and was reassured that there was a way to unnerve the usually unflappable intelligence agent. “Spaceman, I want you to stay with the shuttle, and keep it under lock-down. Be ready to launch at a moment's notice, and maintain contact with Alamo.”

 “That might be a little tricky, ma'am,” the pilot replied. “I'm getting a lot of interference from electrical storms in the atmosphere. The signals are pretty distorted, and I'm on triple-confirm on our telemetry.”

 “Do the best you can,” she said, “and keep listening out for any signs of trouble.”

 Cooper climbed up the ladder, pushing open the hatch and stepping out onto the landing platform above. As he rose, she could hear music playing, some sort of discordant noise at first, followed by a reasonable rendition of the United Nations anthem, obviously some sort of recording. With a glance at Cantrell, she climbed after him, to see a group of men waiting at the top, all wearing ornate uniforms, each a different color. As she stepped onto the deck, they glanced at each other, before one of them finally stepped forward.

 “My name is Kelgar, Chief Administrator of Skybase One. I presume you must be Captain Orlova.”

 Nodding, she replied, “It's a pleasure to meet you in person, and to see your beautiful city.” 

 “You are in command of that ship?” another asked.

 Waving at him, Kelgar said, “This is Yorax, Director of Combat Operations. I believe you would describe him as an Admiral, if I understand the Earth records correctly.”

 “I am in command of Alamo, yes,” she said. “I gather that is unusual here.”

 Cantrell climbed up after them, earning another stare from the men. She moved over next to Cooper, her face cold as iron.

 “Unusual?” Yorax said. “Downright unheard of. Old customs die hard, no matter how long some of us complain about them. We've wasted too much of our population in the past.”

 “This is a matter for later discussion,” Kelgar said. “You know how I feel about that issue, but I accept that different cultures have different customs. Evidently that have made different decisions, and they must live or die by them, just as we do.” He turned, and said, “In our society, women have no leadership role. Their primary function is family-based.”

 Orlova glanced at Cooper, and said, “No doubt we have a lot to learn from each other.”

 With a barking laugh, Yorax said, “Meaning that you are going to try and educate us of the error of our ways, and have a nice big stick to back it up with if needed. Perhaps you can finally smash some sense into a few old heads, eh!”

 “Come, Director,” the third man said, “I am Raval, head of the Surgical Guild. I would like to show you some of our medical records regarding space-faring females. I suspect you might reconsider your career path if you are able to understand them.”

 Her eyes widening, Cantrell said, “I was assuming that this visit would maintain a certain level of protocol. If we're being so blunt, then I consider your system outmoded in the extreme, woefully inefficient and unfair.”

 “I think that is enough, Lieutenant,” Orlova said.

 Shaking his head, Yorax replied, “I've been waiting forty years to hear someone say that to this old fool.” Turning to the others, he said, “The world is not as you want it, it is as it is. The central tenet by which our ancestors lived, and the reason we survived the Cataclysm.”

 “I do not see any reason to remain here,” Raval said, moving in front of Cantrell, glaring at her. “Heed my words, young lady. Your actions will bring you nothing but misery.” The doctor stormed out, Kelgar glancing after them, Yorax still chuckling. The old general turned to Cooper, and nodded.

 “I presume you are the man who led the force that saved Twenty-Two.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “I've seen some of the footage of that assault. Excellent work. In all honesty I think you the superior of any combat force in this system, whether in space- or ground-based warfare.”

 Scowling, Kelgar said, “I would have thought you would have been the last person to denigrate the brave men of our military.”

 “Those brave men labor on wrecked old ships. This is a fully-functional military organization, and I can at least admire that. Our people do the best they can with what they have.” He sighed, and said, “To have such a force at my disposal just once would be a dream.”

 “So,” Kelgar said, “How can we be of further assistance, Captain Orlova? I presume you wish to continue your journey soon.”

 Shaking his head, Yorax said, “You're going to keep that arrogant attitude, aren't you.”

 “There is nothing in this system that we are not capable of handling for ourselves.”

 Folding his arms, the admiral replied, “All you do is organize the paperwork. I'm the one actually facing these pirates, and I say that we need all the help we can possibly get if we're going to beat them. This is a gift from the Gods, and while you might be prepared to squander it, I certainly am not.” He turned to Orlova, and said, “We need your assistance, and though there are those among us who would perhaps fear it, I'm not one of them.”

 “Go on,” Orlova said.

 With a sigh, Kelgar said, “I don't know how aware you are of the situation in this system. We have installations on Arcadia, and the moons of Itix and Gire, both mining vital resources. Our transport fleet is fully stretched keeping this facility supplied. Recent losses have only made matters worse.”

 “Can't you build more transports?” Cantrell asked.

 Glancing at Kelgar, Yorax replied, “Our shipbuilding facilities are limited. Constructing new vessels in a short period is not an option. The pirates are based on the outer moons, and they've been hitting us with those damn ships more and more often. These days it's rare for a transport to get through unmolested, and my gunships can't be everywhere at once.”

 “And with those lasers, you can't launch an attack on their bases,” Cantrell said, nodding. “They'd melt your ships to slag before you even got close.”

 “Exactly,” Yorax replied. “Though that did not stop my predecessor making an attempt. One which only made a bad situation worse. If things deteriorate much more, then I won't be able to guarantee our shipping lines.”

 “We do have plans in place to resolve this situation,” Kelgar added. “It is not so desperate as Yorax states, though I do concede that the situation is worsening.”

 “The arrival of your ship changes the strategic position completely,” Yorax said, pressing an advantage. “If we could stop the pirates, then we have a lot more options again. Our gunships can be converted to transports, and with the excess capacity, we might be able to start expanding our outposts, potentially strengthen our position in this system considerably.”

 With a frown, Orlova said, “You must understand that my options here are somewhat limited. The Confederation has not officially recognized your government...”

 “Of course,” Kelgar replied. “It is unrealistic to expect that you should become involved in our war. I quite understand your position, Captain.”

 “...Though I have some latitude in this situation. I'd need full details of your strategic situation, as well as a complete run-down on the history of the conflict to date.”

 “I can provide that myself,” Yorax replied. “Frankly, I'm desperate to take a look at that ship of yours in any case.” Turning to Cooper, he added, “My Internal Security people would like to have words with you, Ensign.”

 “Oh?” he said, his face darkening.

 A beaming smile on the old man's face, he replied, “They've been watching your attack on a continuous loop. I know they've got a thousand questions for you.”

 “I'd like to take a look around as well,” Cantrell said.

 Orlova nodded, then said, “Very well, Director, we can head back to Alamo right away. If that is acceptable to you, Administrator?” She looked at Kelgar, who reluctantly nodded.

 “I'm sure we can look after your people for a little while, Captain.”

 “We'll send a shuttle for you in eight hours,” Orlova said.

 “Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell said. “We'll be there.”

 “See that you are.” Turning to Yorax, she replied, “If you would come with me, Director?”

 “My pleasure,” he said. “I haven't been this excited since my first ride in a gunboat.”

 As she climbed down the ladder, she looked at Cooper, who gave her a reassuring nod. She wished she shared his feelings, but as she dropped down into the cabin, all she could feel was a sense of dread, of foreboding. Something was terribly wrong here, and she was leaving two of her people behind to face it alone.

Chapter 6

 As far as Cooper could tell, the interior of Skybase was similar to that of the freighter he had seen. Everything kept in good order, though obviously with limited supplies and equipment. Anything that could be reused was, and he walked past a workshop where a dozen men in gray uniforms were dismantling some components, every scrap of material being salvaged for later use. Behind them, a green-uniformed figure watched, occasionally passing on instructions in a language he couldn't understand, but otherwise staying well clear of the work.

 Their guide, a man named Naxos, urged them away as he saw them loitering, guiding them down the corridor. Cantrell was the focus of attention, drawing looks ranging from outright hostility to lascivious glares, and she moved closer to Cooper, her hand instinctively drawing near the sidearm at her belt.

 “You'll have to excuse them, ma'am,” Naxos said. “They don't usually see a female with a weapon, up here in the higher levels.”

 “Am I supposed to be barefoot and pregnant?” she replied, shaking her head. “Your people need a serious attitude adjustment.”

 “Speaking purely personally, I'd be inclined to agree,” the guard replied. “Still, it's a hard habit to break. After the Cataclysm, there were only forty-one women of child-bearing age left alive. You can understand why they had to be kept safe. They were the only hope of a future.”

 Cooper shook his head, and said, “That might have been the case then, but that was hundreds of years ago. Surely by now the situation has normalized.”

 “We leave those decisions to the Council,” Naxos said. “They're not for us to question. At least not out in public.” He smiled, and said, “I'm just glad I took those English classes.”

 “How many of your people speak our language?” Cooper asked, grasping at anything that might change the subject. “I'd expected it to be limited to a few specialists.”

 “Most of our systems use United Nations technology to one extent or another, and we're always improvising new ways to develop them. If you want any sort of engineering or space-faring career, you learn English. I'd say one in five are reasonably fluent.” He shrugged, and said, “Not to mention that I think we'd always expected to come across some other humans one day. It didn't seem likely that only a single ship would find us. I'm surprised it took as long as it did.”

 “Don't take this the wrong way,” Cooper said, “but you're in a bit of a backwater here. The main thrust of colonial development was in a different direction.”

 With a shrug, Naxos replied, “Not really my field. I'll leave that to the Astrogator's Guild.” He stepped towards a door, pushing it open, and said, “We're here. Upper Security Control.”

 They entered the room, a large chamber with a viewscreen on the wall that was playing the record of his boarding action on the freighter, a couple of dozen blue-uniformed figures watching the display, some of them making notes. It looked rather familiar, similar to the Espatier barracks on Alamo. Weapons rack on the wall, a series of bunks on the other side of the room, tables and chairs, and a pair of small side offices, their doors closed.

 One of the watchers turned, saw Cooper, and raced over, saying, “That was amazing. How did you move so quickly?”

 “And how did you get such accuracy?” another asked. “I don't think anyone on that squad would be beaten by our top marksmen.”

 “Most of it is a matter of training,” Cooper replied. “As well as field experience. Everyone in my team is a combat veteran, with experience both in zero-gravity and planetary surface warfare.”

 Shaking his head, Naxos said, “They make you fight in the dirt?”

 “When needed,” Cooper said. “Though our primary training was space-based. Originally we were garrison troopers for star ships, used for internal security and boarding actions, but over time our remit has somewhat expanded.”

 Glancing at Cantrell, another said, “I see someone's proving old Yorax right, then.”

 “About damn time,” the first one said. “I'm Trant, Deputy Director. While I don't think we could ever aspire to your level of training, we'd be glad to listen to anything you have to say. How long are you with us?”

 “A few hours,” Cooper replied. “Then we've got to go back to the ship.”

 Nodding, Trant turned to Cantrell, and asked, “What is it you do over there?”

 “Tactical Officer.”

 His eyes widened, and he said, “I think you might be even more help than the good Ensign.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Just don't tell anyone on the Council. I don't think they'd take it very well.”

 Frowning, Cooper asked, “If you don't mind my saying so, you seem a lot more liberal out here than the rest of the population.”

 “Surprised?” Trant asked. “You shouldn't be. For a start, most of us have Earth-born relatives somewhere back in our ancestry. And we're the ones who are always at the sharp end, fighting those damn pirates.” He pulled out a file of paper, waving it in the air, and said, “The report that cost Yorax his job, first time around. Personnel Utilization Requirements. Sounds boring, doesn't it.”

 “Extremely.”

 Dropping it to the desk, he said, “It boils down to female suffrage and full employment. We've got too few people doing too many jobs, and a third of our population is restricted to worthless pursuits.” 

 “Come on, Trant,” Naxos said. “It isn't as bad as all that. I'm as open-minded as the rest of you, but I'm sure the Council knows what they are doing. Our friends come from a different society, and perhaps one that is more fortunate than ours.”

 Slamming his hand on the desk, Trant replied, “Damn it, we're stagnating, when we should be expanding. Once we dreamed of pushing out to the other worlds...”

 “And when we've wiped out the pirates, we'll be able to do just that.” Turning back to Cooper, he said, “They're becoming a hell of a menace.”

 “Not just out there,” another guard said. “The dissidents over here are growing in strength as well.”

 “I still say they're working together,” Trant said. “They've got agents right here on Skybase, and they're using them to spread all kinds of hell. We're putting out fires around the clock, and I wish I could say that I was only speaking metaphorically.” Shaking his head, he said, “Not that cutting the basic ration has helped the situation.”

 Frowning, Naxos replied, “Sir, these people are scum. All must work together for the common good, or all of us will die. Words that are just as true today as they were when the Council was founded. You said it yourself. The pirates have managed to infiltrate, maybe on some of the outer settlements, and got their people in our organization.” Looking around darkly, he said, “I suspect they have help at higher levels as well.”

 With a wry smile, Trant said, “Are you going to report me? In front of our guests?” He sighed, and said, “One of the most important aspects of our job is that we have to think the unthinkable. If we can't get into the minds of the people we hunt down, we haven't got a hope in hell of stopping them.”

 Naxos frowned, nodded, and said, “I still think talk like this is unnecessary.”

 “Sir,” a guard said, looking up at a status panel. “Trouble on Level Nine.”

 “Let's see it,” Naxos said.

 Shaking his head, the guard replied, “We don't have any surveillance in that section.” Glancing at Cooper, he added, “It was stripped four years ago to cover the loading docks, and never replaced.”

 “We have to prioritize,” Naxos said.

 “Nevertheless, someone has interrupted the power relays in Section Thirty-Nine, and there's nothing on the maintenance schedule for today that can explain it.”

 “Sabotage, in progress,” Trant said. “This time we might get some answers. Want to come along?”

 Cantrell shook her head, and replied, “We can't get involved in matters of domestic security.”

 “Still,” Cooper replied, “We are here to observe, and the best way to do that is to go where the action is.” Looking at Cantrell, he asked, “Or are you ordering me to stay here?”

 “She's your boss?” Naxos asked.

 “Technically, no, but she does outrank me,” he replied. “What's it to be, ma'am?”

 Turning to Trant, she said, “Give us two jackets. If we're going to do this damn stupid thing, we'd better not be seen doing it.”

 Frowning, Naxos said, “I'm not sure about this, sir. Maybe we should clear it with the Council.”

 “Go ahead,” Trant replied, tossing a pair of blue jackets at Cooper. “By the time you get any sort of a response, the saboteurs will have died of old age. Let's move.”

 While Naxos watched, a scowl spreading across his face, half a dozen of the guardsmen pulled rifles from the wall lockers, racing out of the door and down the corridor, Trant at their head. Cooper pulled out his pistol and followed them, and after a last glance at Naxos, so did Cantrell.

 The aerostat was a maze of corridors and passages, obviously long changed from their original function, and he knew that if he lost contact with the racing guards, he'd never find his way back again. Not without a lot of questions that he didn't want to answer, anyway. The corridors were empty now, sirens sounding that cleared their way through.

 That was strange in itself. On Alamo, he'd expect discipline like that, but during his training on civilian stations, there had always been a contingent of gawkers convinced that the rules didn't apply to them, that they were being given a free show. At the very least someone should be loitering, undertaking an errand that they alone thought was important. Nevertheless, they raced on around empty corridors, until after what seemed like a week's hard march, Trant stopped at a bulkhead door, gathering the rest of his men around.

 “We've got the area sealed off, but there is an exterior accessway. Watch out for that. No idea how many people we're dealing with, no idea what they might be armed with, and it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if they've planted some sort of explosive trap.” With a frown, he added, “We don't have time for anything fancy. It's a small area. Go in, move fast, and yell if you see something strange.” He reached across, then pulled a lever, releasing the door.

 Inside was a cold, dank area with water dripping from the ceiling, obviously far less well maintained than the area they had previously visited. As they edged in, Cooper saw signs that people were living in here, old, well-worn sleeping bags dumped on the floor by an alcove, graffiti scrawled on the wall.

 A faint squeaking noise caught his ear, and he turned, raising his gun, only preventing himself from firing at the last minute as he realized he had a rat in his sights.

 “Got a lot of them in this section,” one of the guards said. “Can't keep them down, and the traps only go so far. I reckon the rats run more than a few of the decks.”

 “Quiet,” Trant said, pushing forward. At least the layout was straightforward enough, one long corridor with rooms on either side, no doors to hinder their search. The inhabitants of this area hadn't been able to leave, and he saw a dozen people huddled together in a single cabin around a flickering electric fire, blankets heaped around them. One of them looked up at him, desperation in his eyes, before looking down at the deck again, as though he was scared to be noticed.

 “Just crawlers,” a man at the rear said. “Plenty of them around. Bastards ought to sign in.”

 “What's the point?” Trant replied. “They wouldn't get anything more than they do now.”

 A shape moved across the corridor at the far end, pausing for a second to look at them, giving the guards the chance to react. They burst into a strong sprint, racing towards the figure who was now charging away. Cooper looked around, trying to spot for sabotage, but all of the equipment in this area was unfamiliar, and a glance at Cantrell revealed that she was having the same problem.

 Turning a corner, they saw the figure, dressed in gray and black camouflage, holding a gun in their direction, another of the nerve guns he'd faced on the freighter. Before anyone could react, he fired, catching the leading guards and sending them crashing to the floor, their faces locked in pain. He heard something behind him, ducked, rolled and shot, deliberately high and wide, just missing the other man who had been sneaking up in their rear, sending him diving for cover.

 More shots rang out, smashing against the walls, their attackers showing no concern for any of the systems they were destroying, though Cooper could see the guards wincing with every shot. The rounds sounded like old UN issue, and the rifles definitely were. He could even just about make out the manufacturer's mark on one of them. They huddled into whatever cover they could find, returning fire when they hoped to have a shot, while Cooper and Cantrell watched and waited.

 “Damn it, they've got us flanked!” Trant said.

 Turning to the guard commander, Cooper said, “You and your mean deal with the guy behind us. I'll take the one ahead.”

 “Watch out, Cooper,” the guardsman replied. “He's not far from an exterior accessway. Don't follow him out onto the hull. It's a long drop.”

 “Don't worry,” he said. “I've got this.” Counting three, he fired a pair of shots, keeping their attacker pinned down, then leapt out of the safety of his cover, sprinting forward. He braced himself for another blast from the nerve gun, but his prey turned and fled, choosing the better part of valor as he raced for a hatch.

 Behind him, Cantrell followed, pistol in hand, and the two of them chased down their target, gaining with every pace. He'd had plenty of chances to take a shot that would have felled him, but none that he could be sure weren't fatal. This man he wanted to bring back alive, though judging from the scream behind him, Trant had no such ideas in mind.

 Just as he was about to grab onto the man's jacket, he escaped through a hatch, the door slamming shut. There was no security panel, at least, not any more, and a pair of dangling wires revealed the secret of the emergency override. Just as he was about to open it, Cantrell grabbed his wrist.

 “Might not be a good idea, Gabe.”

 “We've got a lot of questions to ask, and I only know one person who might give us the answers.”

 She paused for a second, then released him, and he connected the wires, the door sliding up with a loud report. The wind shocked him, blowing in his face, and he took in a deep gulp of the air outside. After all this time, it still felt strange to be in the open air without a suit, especially in such a strange environment.

 Gathering his wits around him, he took hold of his pistol and edged out onto the balcony, being sure to stay close to the hull. The safety rail was old, worn, and tattered, and he wasn't going to trust it with his weight, not without a line to secure him. Cantrell followed him, taking cautious steps, testing the strength of the deck with each pace, as though afraid that the whole assembly would tumble away, taking them with it.

 He looked out at the view, and instinctively took a step back. It felt as though he was flying through air, with nothing underneath him except frail metal mesh, with sky all around him, twisted clouds and buffeting winds flapping his jacket. Overhead, the balloon loomed large, the material rippling. It seemed ludicrous, that such a city should exist, and he almost expect that realization to send it plummeting from the sky.

 Taking a deep breath, he forced himself out onto the balcony, and quickly spotted the figure he was searching for, a nerve gun leveled at his chest. Cantrell had her pistol out, ready to cover him, but held her fire.

 “I shoot, you have a fifty-fifty chance of falling,” his voice said.

 “If I shoot,” Cantrell replied, “there's no risk at all of you living through it.”

 “Let me go,” he said. “You haven't got any stake in this fight.”

 “What fight?” Cooper asked. “Are you with the pirates?”

 “Is that what they call them now? There's more to this than you know. Your friends aren't nice people.”

 “Then tell us what we're facing,” Cooper said. “If you come with me, I'll arrange for you to be taken back to Alamo. I won't promise that we won't turn you back over to the Council, but you'll be given a fair hearing.”

 The figure paused, as though pondering for a moment, and began to lower his gun before collapsing to the ground, blood spreading across his front, lurching to the right and tumbling over the rail, down to the storm-tossed surface below. Naxos stepped out, hanging onto another hatch, a pistol in his hand.

 “I thought you might need some help,” he said. “Trant's got the other one. Looks like we made clean sweep. Thanks for the assist.”

 “Yeah,” Cooper said, looking down. He couldn't even see the surface, not through all the clouds. Odds are the body was still falling, lost forever, taking the secrets he carried with him.

Chapter 7

 “I still don't see why you came,” Salazar said, looking at Harper. “You'd be able to get all the information you needed back on Alamo. I'd have sent it across to you quickly enough.”

 “I need to be on the spot,” she replied. “Look, based on what we already know, I'm not going to get the run of Skybase, so if I want to gather any on-the-spot intelligence, it has to be here.”  

 Glancing around to make sure no-one was in sight, he said, “That, and you wanted a chance to hack into the ship's systems in real-time.”

 With a smile, she replied, “And all of the data is being transmitted back to Alamo on tight-beam as we speak. If nothing else, it should prove useful to get an idea of what exactly this ship does. I don't buy that they spend all of their time carrying dung.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar to Propulsion Control,” a voice said, over the speaker. “Orbital insertion in five minutes.”

 “Sounds like they're singing my song,” he replied. “Come on. This ought to be fun.”

 “Fun?” she replied. “Risking a landing on an unknown planet in a ship that predates the first landing on Mars? I think we have different ideas on the meaning of that word.” Her smile belied her words, and the two of them drifted off down the corridor, Salazar taking the lead. They floated past Fitzroy, frowning at a circuit relay he was attempting to repair, the technician focused intently on his work, ignoring the ever-growing cloud of components orbiting him.

 Propulsion Control was still a mess, but it was a slightly more organized mess than it had been, a pair of modified shuttle control consoles forced into position, attached by a tangle of cables in front of two crash couches. The viewscreen flickered, a crack in the lower-left side that would have resulted in instant replacement under any other circumstances, a permanent niggling irritation for the pilot.

 Tarak was sitting at the controls, frowning at the unfamiliar readings, and waved Salazar over to the other station as soon as he arrived.

 “I'm glad you're here. I don't recognize half of this.”

 “I thought they'd been laid out to match the controls you already had.” Salazar leaned over, poking one of the readouts, and said, “A lot of this stuff doesn't apply to this ship anyway, so I think you can ignore it.”

 “I'd be happier if you took her for the ride in,” he said, waving his hands away. “I'm not sure I trust myself.”

 “I see you are quick to cede full control of this ship,” Ortok replied, pushing into the room. “I need to have words with you, Sub-Lieutenant. I've been watching your men work, and I'm appalled at the slipshod way they are undertaking the repairs.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Your Spaceman Bartlett was about to throw away a burned out relay before I stopped him, and he wasted two Number Four capacitors. Mindless, senseless misuse of essential materials.”

 “Have you any complaints about the quality of the repairs?”

 Ortok's frown grew, and he replied, “I suppose I can't say that. Everything seems to work well enough, though I don't know how long they will last based on the other things I am seeing. Why, one of the replacement hatch locks only has a time-to-fail of five years.”

 Harper turned, and said, “You've got to understand that we have a very different approach. Our fabrication technology means that we don't have to ration spare parts the way you do. If we need it, we produce it, often in a matter of minutes. Though we usually keep plenty of stores on hand, of course.”

 “I don't need to listen to the way you do it. You're on our ship now, and all that matters is the way we do things. If you are perfectly happy to just throw away used equipment, not making any attempt to make use of it, then that is your business, but that isn't the way we operate.”

 “Quite right,” Salazar said, flashing a look at Harper.

 “Excuse me?” Ortok said.

 “I agree. Our practices must seem somewhat wasteful, and given that you don't have access to such technology, it's only reasonable that you would see things that way. I assure you that all the repairs will be conducted expeditiously, and that you will be left with a good quantity of spare parts for future use.”

 Frowning, the engineer replied, “As long as the quality of the work is good, I suppose I have no objection.”

 “Orbit interface in two minutes,” Tarak said. “If you would, Sub-Lieutenant? I'd better go down to Engineering and make sure everything is fine down there.”

 “It is,” Ortok said, bluntly. “I'd think you would want to watch the landing, especially as you seem to have developed a lack of familiarity with the controls.”

 “Let me do it my way,” Tarak said, pushing off down the corridor. “This is too important to take any unnecessary chances.”

 “As you say,” Ortok replied, shaking his head as he settled into the co-pilot's seat, Salazar logging on to the helm, looking at the controls. “Can you handle this?”

 “I've done more than a hundred planetary landings, though never with something this big,” he replied. “Don't worry, I'll get her down.”

 “I hope so,” Ortok replied. “I don't understand what his problem is. I can read these controls well enough. I'll admit that you have the edge on us in that field.”

 “Firing sequence on my mark,” Salazar said, running through the checklist. Everything seemed a lot more sluggish than he would have expected, the controls taking their time to respond. He struggled to set up the burn, frowning as the status indicators refused to flash green.

 “Hey, something else in orbit,” Harper said, hovering by the sensors.

 “That's impossible,” Ortok said. “There must be something wrong with your equipment.”

 “Diagnostic green,” she replied, before shouting, “Threat warning! Enemy vessel, intercept course, coming from the far side of the planet. They must have sneaked in using the planet as a shield.”

 “What?” Ortok yelled, pushing over to the sensors, knocking Harper to the side. “I read it too, but that's impossible. We'd have spotted them if they had been on that vector.”

 “We can debate the situation later. I'm aborting the landing and going for a gravity assist. Maybe we can outrun them and get to Alamo.”

 Shaking his head, Ortok argued, “We'd be safe on the surface. They can't operate in atmosphere.”

 “No chance we'd get there. They'd have us cold, before we could even settle into orbit. Hang on, this is going to be rough.” He set the course, struggling with the unfamiliar systems, frowning as they still failed to promptly respond to his commands. “I wish I knew what was wrong with this damn set-up. Burn in four seconds.”

 He counted down, and slammed the button, waiting for the familiar roar of the engines to kick in, to push them on the new flight path that gave them at least a chance of safety. Nothing happened. Working the controls again yielded the same response, and he started to run the diagnostic checks, conscious of Ortok looking at him with disdain. 

 “The board is working, but nothing's happening.”

 “Evidently,” the engineer sneered. “It would appear that your repairs were not so efficient as you believe. Under other circumstances….”

 Ducking underneath the console, Salazar looked at the relays, his eyes widening. Someone had disconnected the primary input feed and attached it to an old datapad, set to run a series of simulations. This wasn't an accident, and it wasn't incompetence. All it could be was sabotage.

 “I'm truly sorry,” Tarak said, drifting into the room, a pistol in his hand. “There isn't any choice. The Outer Colonies need this ship and its crew a lot more than Skybase does.”

 “This is treason,” Ortok replied, “and I guarantee that you will die screaming for your last breath of air when I report this.” 

 Shaking his head, the pilot said, “That isn't going to happen, Ortok, and you know it. We'll be heading for one of our settlements now, and there you will be processed for work schedules.” Turning to Salazar, he added, “You and your people will be released, after we have had a chance to explain a few things to you.”

 “All lies,” Ortok said. “They are pirates and thieves, who will see our children starve.”

 With a sigh, Salazar said, “Call off your attack, and I will guarantee that you will have a hearing with Captain Orlova. That's the best I can do.”

 “I don't think you understand,” Tarak replied. “You are in no position to bargain.” Another man appeared at the door, also armed, covering the room, and Tarak pushed forward to the helm. Salazar looked around, taking a quick look at the sensor display. Nine minutes until intercept, time enough to do something, even if they wouldn't be able to escape.

 Ortok stepped forward, drifting towards Tarak, his fists balled, and the man at the door fired, his nerve gun making the engineer writhe in agony, twisting around as he tumbled through the air. Using the distraction, Salazar leapt forward, kicking at the pilot while Harper moved for the man at the door. She was an instant faster than the guard, snatching his gun and turning it on him while Salazar crashed into Tarak, the two of them grappling at each other as they bounced from the wall, before the pilot suddenly grew limp in his arms.

 “Got him,” Harper said. “Now what?”

 “Get me a revised time to contact,” he said, reaching under the console. He gently pulled the connector free of the portable computer, and started to reconnect it in the proper place, pushing the sea of wires aside in a desperate search to find the control circuit. He finally found it on the third attempt, peering up at the console to see the lights finally glowing red.

 “I can't seal off the room,” Harper said. “Contact in seven minutes, nine seconds. Firing range in six.”

 “Status of the communication systems?”

 “Hopeless,” the hacker replied. “The comm laser is working, but the targeting computer isn't. I'd never be able to hold a beam.”

 “How long to send a short text message?”

 “A microsecond,” she said, turning to the console. “I can start hunting for Alamo, fire it off as one pulse, but we'll have no way of knowing whether the message was received.”

 “I'll buy us some time,” he replied. “We're too late for the gravity swing, but any delay will help.” Turning back to the controls, he ran the engines up to full thrust, and this time they responded immediately, the comforting roar of the motor sounding through the hull as their course began to change, out into free orbit, away from the planet.

 Instantly, the enemy ship reacted, twisting around to follow them, and he could make out the same laser as before boosting the sailship towards them, their acceleration far in excess of anything he could manage with the lumbering freighter. Behind him, he could hear Harper at work, concentrating on her controls, ranging across space as she attempted to lock onto Alamo, the computer unable to give her anything but the smallest degree of assistance.

 Disconnecting the safeties, he ran the acceleration up well over the red-line, pinning him to the seat. He still couldn't outpace his pursuer, but he could buy more time, as well as prevent anyone else from joining them on the bridge. Ortok moaned on the floor, mercifully lying on his back, starting to recover from the blast, but the others remained still and quiet.

 They roared past the planet, and he briefly had a close-in view of the surface, large brown areas framed in green and blue, with the sheer white of the ice caps raging down in long, sweeping scythes. As he passed, an area seemed to shine, the sunlight reflecting from the surface, unlike anything he had ever seen before.

 Then the starfield returned, the planet now beginning to recede. The enemy ship was still trailing them, boosting three times faster than the transport, an acceleration that must have rendered her crew all-but unconscious, trusting to their automatic systems to keep them on course. In a matter of moments, they'd find out just how badly they wanted this ship intact, firing range coming up all too quickly.

 “Come on, Harper,” he said.

 “Genius takes time,” she replied.

 “We're running out. Two minutes and all of this is over.”

 “I've got her close, but I can't quite get a firm lock. She's fighting me.”

 “Keep it together,” he said, turning back to his controls. The fuel tanks were beginning to run low, depleting at a rate far faster than they would ever normally be burned, and amber lights were starting to flash across his board as the struggling systems started to fail. He began to run bypass overrides, trying to work around the failing equipment, but it was a battle he was never going to win, and as a swarm of red lights flooded his panel, the engines stuttered and died.

 “That's it,” he said. “They'll be on us in seconds.”

 “Wait one,” she said. “Got it! Link-up! I managed to send the message twice, I think. Enough that they'll know what's happening over here.”

 Looking up at the sensor controls with a sigh, he replied, “Not that there is anything they can do to help us. Even at full acceleration, they'd be hours getting here on an intercept course. That sailship will be on us in moments.”

 A groaning noise sounded from the floor, and Ortok's eyes flickered open, the grizzled engineer struggling to his feet, saying, “What happened?”

 “We managed to get a signal through to Alamo, but I don't think that's going to do us any good. Contact in forty seconds, and the engines are just about dead.”

 He looked up at the control board, his eyes widening, and replied, “I've never seen as many malfunctions in my life.”

 With a shrug, Harper said, “At least that means they're unlikely to be able to salvage the ship. They'll have to content themselves with taking prisoners. Which, I'm afraid, means us.”

 A loud report echoed through the ship, the enemy vessel locking onto the lower docking collar. The few surveillance cameras that were still working told the tale, boarding parties pushing onto the ship, grabbing anyone they could find and bundling them away. Salazar looked down at Tarak, who was starting to stir.

 “Your friends are here,” he said. “Though we were able to alert Alamo. Help will be on the way, I can promise you that.”

 “It won't make any difference,” the pilot replied. “None of it will make any difference. They'll never catch us in time.”

 Pulling out a pistol, Ortok said, “You won't be there to see any of it, though.”

 “Hold it,” Salazar said, as Harper raised her pistol. “There's no point to that, not now. Unless you want to commit suicide, in which case I will thank you not to take the rest of us with you.”

 A group of green-clad figures appeared in the door, chattering among themselves in an unfamiliar language before one of them turned to the prone gunman on the floor. He looked down for a moment, shook his head, and closed his eyes with the palm of his hand. For a second, a flash of bitter hatred appeared in his eyes as he stared at Salazar.

 Tarak dragged himself to his feet, reaching at a hand-hold, and shook his head, replying in the same strange language. The tone of the conversation suggested that the newcomer was reluctant to accede to the pilot's wishes, but after a moment, turned and left the bridge, muttering something under his breath that in any language had to be swearing.

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar, Lieutenant Harper, you are both the prisoners of the Colonial Coalition. We will attempt to contact your commanding officer shortly, but I must inform you that you are both wanted on charges of murder.” Looking down at the dead man, he said, “Grigar snapped his neck, probably during that mad surge of acceleration.”

 “The man tried to steal this ship,” Ortok said. “He deserves everything that he got. It's a cleaner death than the Council would have given him.”

 “I suggest you should be grateful that the Coalition is more merciful.” Looking around the bridge, he said, “A pity we can't go home in style, but the sailship will have to suffice. If you would accompany me, or would you rather be dragged unconscious to detention?”

 “My crew?” Salazar asked.

 “All safe, all well, and my intention is to leave them behind. All we wanted was the two of you. Now, shall we leave? Time and the orbits of the planets wait for no man. Or I may have to reconsider my decision not to take your crew with us.”

 With one final look at the corpse, Salazar nodded, pushing out into the corridor, Harper and Ortok followed, the latter shaking his head, a scowl frozen on his face.

 “There will be a reckoning for this, Tarak. Count on it.” 

 “Words are cheap,” he replied. “Move.”

Chapter 8

 Yorax looked over the declassified portions of Alamo's combat specifications, shaking his head in reverent awe. Periodically, he would pause to ask a quiet question, always astonished by the answer, before finally tearing himself away from the holodisplay.

 “This ship is a wonder,” he said. “And you have more of these?”

 “We do,” Orlova nodded. “More advanced, more powerful versions. You should see the new Ares-Class Battleships, though I'd still choose Alamo in a fight every time.” 

 “A commanding officer is always proud of her ship,” he said. “I have to admit that I am jealous. To have the opportunity to command a ship such as this, on a mission of exploration among the stars, would be extraordinary. I wish I was twenty years younger; I'd be signing up with your Fleet in a heartbeat, and I expect many of my officers would be tempted.”

 “Should your Council apply for Protectorate status,” Nelyubov, standing behind Orlova, said, “You might have that opportunity.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I don't think they would ever choose to relinquish their independence. Perhaps my children might have the chance to see other stars, though somehow, I doubt it.” He looked up, and said, “You could end our war in an afternoon.”

 “I'm not so sure of that,” Orlova replied. “Those defense lasers could be a problem, even for us. If they once got a firm lock on Alamo, we'd be finished.”

 Nodding, he said, “That was what defeated our last big offensive, and led to my recall from disgrace. I have some rather radical ideas, you see, and they elected to pick someone who would follow the guidance of our leaders without question.” He tapped up a display, inserting an old datadisk, and an image appeared of a dozen ships, flying in tight formation towards a barren moon. A beam winked into life, sweeping around to pick off missile volleys as they launched, before finally ripping into the gunships, destroying seven of them before the survivors could escape.

 “Whoever commanded that attack...” Nelyubov began.

 “He died for his sins, I assure you,” Yorax replied. “Though that was scant consolation for the survivors. I was chosen with a mandate to do better, but I've been left with few resources to push an advantage. All we can do is hold on, and hope that we can outlast our enemy in a war of attrition.  Our intelligence suggests that it isn't an unrealistic expectation, though I know the Council would prefer me to fight some huge, glorious battle, to win the war with one single action.”

 “Usually, war doesn't work that way,” Orlova replied. “With a convoy system, as well as tighter control of the transports, you ought to be able to starve them out.”

 “I would tend to agree, but again and again, I am overruled. Disaster looms as a result, but I cannot make them see that.” He paused, then said, “You aren't going to help us, are you? I must confess, were I in your place, I would be reluctant to intervene either.”

 “I haven't said anything yet.”

 “You don't have to,” he replied, pulling out the datadisk. “I can see it in your eyes.”

 Before she could reply, the communicator on her desk chirped, and Weitzman's voice called out, “Sorry to interrupt you, ma'am, but we've just received a distress signal from Freighter Twenty-Two.”

 Glancing at Nelyubov, she raced out of her office onto the bridge, moving over to the communications station. Cantrell was already at Tactical, bringing the ship to stand-by, and Foster was plotting intercept courses at the helm, trajectory plots sweeping forth.

 “Details, Spaceman.”

 “It's from Lieutenant Harper, ma'am. She reports that a traitor on board, one Tarak, has attempted to hijack the ship, and that they are now being pursued by another sailship. They will be captured in minutes, and are unable to evade.”

 “Confirmed,” Spinelli said. “I've spotted the other ship. Looks like it came around from the far side of the planet, staying in the blind spot. Contact in one minute.”

 “At best speed, how long before we reach them?” Orlova asked.

 Foster shook her head, and said, “Two hours, maybe a little less.”

 “Do it,” she said. “Get us moving. I want all decks on stand-by alert, and all hands informed that we will be going to battle stations in one hundred and five minutes unless the situation changes.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Nelyubov said, moving over to a vacant station as Alamo's engines fired, the ship slowly moving towards Arcadia, the navigation plot snapping on to show them intercepting the enemy vessel. Yorax stepped forward, frowning as he examined the holodisplay.

 “I'm not familiar with charts of this type, Captain, but I can tell you that this is not their normal procedure. Their ships are faster than ours, if lighter, and they've never needed to use stealth techniques. Nor, as far as I am aware, do they have any stations in that part of the Outer Ring.” Shaking his head, he continued, “This was planned, probably for quite a long time, if I am any judge. They want that ship.”

 “Or the people on it,” Nelyubov suggested, looking up from his work.

 “No, I don't think so. For two reasons. First, that it has taken them longer than you have been in this system to set up the attack, and second, that if they wanted to speak to you, I suspect that all it would have taken would have been a simple message.” He looked across at Orlova, a smile on his face, and added, “In fact, I suspect that you have already attempted to contact them to find out their side of the story.”

 “They haven't replied to any of our messages,” she said.

 “Perhaps they assume that you are our ally, or maybe they are simply watching and waiting.”

 “Docking complete,” Spinelli said. “The sailship has locked onto the freighter. And pulled a substantial acceleration to do it. I think they topped out at eight gravities.”

 “Now they will strip the ship,” Yorax said. “Loot it for spare parts, components, people, and leave it a drifting hulk. Look at the vector your pilot placed the ship on. Somehow he managed to break escape velocity. I doubt we'll ever be able to retrieve it.”

 “Alamo could catch it if we moved quickly,” Foster said. “I can set up for an interception course in about four hours.”

 “Keep it logged, Sub-Lieutenant, but for the present I want us to remain on our original course.”

 She watched as the ship slowly moved along the trajectory track, homing in on its distant target, her crew working all around her to bring the ship to the height of readiness for the expected battle. If it was just a matter of facing off the sailship, they could defeat it easily, but those laser cannons were a different story. Even a glancing blow would wipe out their heat radiator, and likely ruin the sensor pickups on that side of the ship.

 “They've detached,” Spinelli said, and the two points began to diverge, the sailship curving away, this time operating without the benefit of a laser beam, dependent only on the power of the sun to speed it on its way. The course quickly settled into a trajectory taking it towards one of the larger moons, and at a nod from Orlova, Yorax began to tap instructions into the databank.

 “It's a known Coalition base,” he said. “One of their larger installations, and incidentally the site of a laser cannon. Estimated population in the low thousands, established not long before the Cataclysm. They've held prisoners there before.” Pausing, he added, “I have some intelligence about the layout of that base. A few years ago, we managed to negotiate a prisoner exchange, back when we used to keep our prisoners alive.”

 “You kill your captives?” Nelyubov asked. “That's barbaric.”

 “I have been informed that the Council considers keeping them alive both a drain on resources and a security risk. My own personal view is that we'd be better off trading them back to the Coalition, but I don't have the influence to make that happen. Yet.” Looking at the strategic view, he added, “We've got a pair of gunboats that can intercept as well, half an hour after Alamo. If I contact them, we might be able to organize a coordinated strike.” 

 “One which would kill any prisoners they have on board,” Orlova replied. “Besides, your ships wouldn't stand a chance against that laser cannon, and you know it.”

 “A soldier doesn't like to sit out a battle while someone else fights it for him, ma'am.”

 “Those are our people on board, Director. I think you can consider us sufficiently involved.”

 “Ma'am,” Weitzman said. “There's a comm laser locking onto us, from the Twenty-Two. I'm getting a message from Petty Officer Lombardo.”

 Frowning, Orlova replied, “Put it on.”

 “Audio only, ma'am,” the communications technician replied.

 “Lombardo to Alamo. Do you read me?”

 “I read you. What's your situation?”

 “There are eight of us remaining on board, none of the enemy. They stripped the ship down pretty efficiently before putting us on our way, but they left the communications system intact. Captain, they've taken Salazar and Harper. You've got to get them back.”

 Breaking in, Nelyubov said, “Petty Officer, what is your favorite color?”

 “What? Blue, sir. Why?”

 Looking across at Orlova, he said, “Now we know it isn't a recording.” 

 “This is strange,” Yorax added. “Not their usual tactic at all. As a rule, they'd take anyone they could get, no matter what the conditions. They've held some of their captives for years. A few of them have even gone native.”

 With a sigh, Orlova asked, “How long before we have to make a decision about intercept, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 Foster turned, and said, “Ma'am, Lombardo's right. We've got to keep after the sailship. At this speed, we'll catch them just before entering laser range. If we break off now, they'll be irretrievable.”

 “I asked you a question, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Turning back to her panel, she replied, “Seventeen minutes, with a two hundred and ninety minute time to contact, six hundred and twelve before we're back at orbit over Skybase.”

 “And if we don't?”

 “Ma'am, we'll think of something,” Lombardo said.

 “What's your supply situation, Petty Officer?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Sir, all of us will gladly go hungry for a while.”

 Nodding, Yorax said, “They'll have taken everything that isn't nailed down. I'm only surprised they left the communications system intact.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “You shouldn't be. They probably made sure that it could be repaired before they left. If it was just a question of an abandoned freighter heading out into the void, I'd have let it go, stayed on the sailship, but now I've got no choice, and those bastards know that. Sub-Lieutenant, change your course, and proceed to the Twenty-Two at best speed.”

 “But, ma'am...”

 “That's an order, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova barked. “Get a probe into the air, Cantrell, to follow that sailship all the way in. And while you are at it, coordinate with the Science department to set up a network so that we can get rid of any other sensor blind spots. I want to be able to get a complete picture of everything in the system.”

 “Understood, ma'am,” Foster said. “Executing course change.”

 “Good. I want a shuttle in the air to Twenty-Two at the earliest opportunity. Let's get this over with as fast as we can.”

 “My government would formally request that you make an attempt to salvage the ship,” Yorax said. “We've got few enough transports of its type in any case.”

 “Have Petty Officer Lombardo provide a report on the feasibility of such an operation, Weitzman, but stress that I want a realistic estimate.” Turning to Yorax, Orlova replied, “Under ideal circumstances I might consider it, but Alamo cannot afford to nursemaid that craft for long repairs, and I have no intention of leaving any of my personnel stranded out there with no way to get home, not with hostile forces in the area.”

 “Completely understood,” he replied. “I know she's probably a lost cause, but there's no harm in making an attempt.” Frowning as he looked at the display, he said, “It would take it months to get back to our space otherwise, and with a velocity that will make an intercept difficult with the ships we have on hand. Frankly, I'm tempted to say impossible, though I suppose the Astrogator's Guild will waste a few weeks trying to conjure up some sort of a miracle.”

 “What happens now?” Nelyubov said.

 “Well, our need for those supplies is more pressing than ever,” Yorax said. “Which means sending another transport. I think the Nineteen is next in line, and they were already speeding her pre-flight preparations when we left. My guess is that she'll be launching in a few hours.” Shaking his head, he added, “I must confess, I don't have that much confidence in our security precautions. There's nothing to stop the Coalition snatching the next ship, and we can't afford those sort of losses. I'm afraid they might have managed to find a weak spot in our armor.”

 “You have that few ships available?” Cantrell asked.

 “We're covering a lot of ground, Lieutenant. Most of our attention has been focused on our ice mines, and keeping those running has been of paramount importance. The shipments from Arcadia have already been delayed on more than one occasion, and I'm afraid the Council doesn't give it the priority it should.” 

 “So they've waited long enough for the situation to grow desperate,” Orlova said. “What if Alamo was to ride shotgun? It would mean waiting until we got back...” 

 “I doubt the Council would agree to the delay. Not that the farms couldn't wait another day, but this is becoming a political issue, and they won't want to lose face. They certainly wouldn't want to admit that they can't handle this situation by themselves.” Shaking his head, he said, “I might manage a single gunboat as an escort. Naxos can handle it.”

 Grimacing, Cantrell said, “What about another option. If we can't escort the ship ourselves, we could at least place a team on board. Ensign Cooper, a squad, and me.”

 “You?” Orlova asked.

 With a shrug, Cantrell replied, “That way an experienced tactical officer is on board should it come to it, and Cooper is more than capable of stopping any boarding action I can think of. If we take a shuttle, we can be back at Skybase in less than an hour.” Turning to Yorax, she said, “You can say that we're observing your defense preparations, if you want, or that we requested a tour of the ground facilities.”

 His face darkening, Yorax said, “Can I have a secure communications link, please?”

 “Certainly,” Orlova replied. “Weitzman, set him up in my office.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” the technician said, rising to his feet. “If you'll come with me, sir?”

 As the two of them left the room, Orlova stepped over to Cantrell, and asked, “What have you got in mind?”

 “If there was one traitor, then there might be others. Certainly I think we need to take a closer look at that planet, and this seems like the best way of doing it. With Cooper and his gang along for the ride, I'm pretty sure we can protect the shipment.”

 “I'm not sure that such overt action is a good idea,” Nelyubov said. “Certainly I don't think that we need to be doing their counter-intelligence for them, Lieutenant.”

 “Who said I'd tell them what I found?” she replied. “We need to find out what the other side of the story is, Captain, and the last time Cooper and I had a chance to speak to one of them, it was that same Naxos who made sure we didn't. I'll go by myself if you don't want to risk a full squad.”

 “What do you think, Frank?”

 “Well, with Alamo on station, we can position ourselves for a much better intercept, and I doubt they'd get far with a boarding action if an Espatier squad was on-board. I suspect the deterrent alone will put them off. I don't like it much, but I've got to admit that she might have a point.”

 After a moment, Yorax stepped out of the office, and said, “The Council are willing to approve this, if it is an official request. As observers, nothing more. Speaking for myself, I'd be very grateful for any help you could provide. I've had ample evidence of our limitations lately.”

 “Well, ma'am?” Cantrell asked.

 “Go,” Orlova said. “Before I change my mind. Move quickly, and keep in touch.”

 With a snap salute, Cantrell raced from the bridge, Yorax just behind her. Orlova watched the doors close, musing that a year ago, she'd have probably been the one to make that suggestion. A part of her, larger than she would care to admit, was jealous.

 “What do we do next, Captain?” Nelyubov asked.

 “I want the senior staff at a meeting in twelve hours, as soon as we've had a chance to debrief our crewmen from the Twenty-Two. I'm getting a little tired of having to react to events. It's time for us to take some action.”

 “What have you got in mind?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I don't know. All I know is that we can't go on as we are. See to the deployment of the probe network, and have Powell go over everything. Maybe we can conjure up a plan from that. Gather all the intelligence you can.” Looking around, she added, “You have the bridge. I'll be in my office.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 She stepped off the bridge, back into her office, and looked at the empty chair. In the past, command had always been someone else's job, the decisions taken by another. Now she was the one sitting in the hot seat, with the fate of a system, not to mention her ship and crew, resting on her shoulders.

 “What the hell would you do, Danny?” she quietly asked, still looking at the chair. “How do I find a way out of this one?”

Chapter 9

 Cooper climbed up the ladder to the Skybase docking area, his squad following close behind him. Instead of the collection of dignitaries that had greeted them last time, only a frowning Naxos was waiting for them, a clipboard in his hand, periodically glancing up at the clock. A couple of technicians loitered behind him, dismantling a piece of incomprehensible equipment, occasionally throwing furtive glances their way.

 “At last,” he said, as the last trooper reached the top. “I've been waiting...”

 “The freighter isn't scheduled to leave for another two hours,” Cooper interrupted.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “My time is valuable, even if yours isn't.” As Cantrell closed the hatch, waving at the pilot to head back to Alamo, he continued, “I want to make something perfectly clear. I don't want you along on this mission. As far as I'm concerned, you are an unwanted distraction. We're perfectly capable of defending our own convoys.”

 Corporal Hunt sighed, and said, “In that case, why did we just spend hours chasing after one of your freighters?”

 “Let's just say that I think we could be a lot more efficient than we are with different leadership. Chasing after some sort of panacea isn't going to win the war.” Folding his arms, he continued, “How long is your marvelous starship going to remain here, anyway? Are you going to stay forever? This war started centuries before you arrived, and it's going to continue long after you leave, and nothing you do is going to change that.”

 Stepping forward, mustering all the ferocity that a dozen training Sergeants had thrown at him, Cooper replied, “What you want doesn't mean a damn to me, and nor does what passes for your opinion. We've got a job to do, and you can either help or get out of the way. I don't care which. Now, where do we board the freighter?”

 “You don't,” he replied, shrinking back a little. “Not yet. The crew is still making final arrangements. There's a waiting area just down the corridor. Someone will come and get you as soon as the ship is ready to depart.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Not good enough. Corporal Hunt?”

 “Sir.”

 “You and Private Lopez will accompany this...officer...to the freighter, and begin an inspection of all critical systems for potential sabotage. If you spot anything, report directly to me, and take any action necessary to protect the mission. Is that understood?”

 “Aye, sir,” Hunt replied, moving over to the Skybase trooper.

 “I can't authorize that,” Naxos spluttered.

 With a grin, Cooper said, “I don't recall asking you to. Now, which way to this waiting area?”

 Naxos gestured down the corridor, then stormed away, the two Espatiers following in his wake. Cooper shook his head as he watched him depart, Cantrell moving over to him, datapad in hand.

 “Was that a good idea?” she asked.

 “I don't think diplomacy was ever going to be a realistic option, do you? At least this way we both have some idea where we stand. He doesn't have to like me, as long as he's scared of me.”

 “He might have a point, though,” she said. “After all, we're moving out in three days.” Raising a hand, she added, “I know, I know, we won't leave the system without Salazar and Harper, but once we've got them back, what happens next? We can't bring them into the Confederation, and we can't even jump back to Thule for help. Our mission orders are quite clear on that.”

 “Then one way or another, we're just going to have to make sure that we've cleaned up this mess before we leave, or at least got it into a position where they can finish the job for themselves. I have a hard time thinking that any of the locals want to die in a senseless war.”

 “You might be surprised about that,” Cantrell replied with a sigh. “Sometimes people are more afraid of change than anything else. They've lived with this for a very long time. Long enough that it's all become second nature to them.” Shaking her head, she added, “We'll see, I guess.”

 The two technicians glanced at each other, and one of them walked over to Cooper, saying, “Were you serious about what you said?”

 “Yes,” he replied. “Why?”

 Looking around, he said, “A mutual friend suggested that you might like to see some parts of the city that the Council wouldn't want you to see. That it might explain what was happening over here.” His eyes still darting towards the corridor, he added, “I can give you a quick tour, if you like. There are people who would like to meet you.”

 Cantrell shook her head, and said, “How do we know that this isn't a trick?”

 “You don't,” the technician said. “Though I could be spaced simply for talking to you like this. I'm taking a risk just being here, but I think it might be worth it.”

 “We've got time before the transport arrives,” Cooper said. “How long will this take?”

 “An hour. I can have you back to the waiting room before anyone knows you have gone. I don't think Naxos will come and get you until he must.”

 Shaking her head, Cantrell said, “Fine. Let's go.”

 The technician's eyes widened, and he said, “I can't take you both. You'd attract too much attention. These are places where a woman simply cannot go.”

 Her face reddening, she said, “Let me…”

 “He's right,” Cooper said. “And you know it. You coming along would be like wearing a fluorescent jacket during a covert infiltration. I'd have a chance at blending into the crowd.”

 “Fine,” she said. “Go have fun. I'll stall Naxos if he does show up. Try not to get yourself into too much trouble.”

 “I'm not sure I can promise that,” he said. Turning to the technician, he said, “Lead on.”

 “First, put these on,” he said, pulling a gray overall out of his work bag. Cooper pulled off his jacket, tossing it to Lance-Corporal Price, making sure to keep his shoulder holster in position as he slid on the dingy uniform. Looking over him, the technician shook his head, then picked up his tools and headed off down the corridor, Cooper following.

 After only two turns, it became apparent that they'd seen a Potemkin village on their first visit to Skybase. The shining lights and well-painted corridors faded to a depressing series of browns and grays, and the people they passed slumped as they walked by, all on their own little errands. Flashes of graffiti littered the walls, some of them in English, mostly protesting about food rations.

 Pausing at a hatch, the technician worked a control, pulling out two boxes of green and red paste, passing one across to Cooper along with a spoon. He dug into the crumbling food, taking a small scoop and carefully tasting it. It took all his self-control not to spit it out onto the deck, but instead he passed it back to the technician, who gave them to the nearest passer-by.

 “That's what we eat, twice a day. Apparently it contains all the nutrients and elements needed to sustain life. Except that it used to be three times a day, and the containers were larger. Every few cycles, they cut the ration.” He shook his head, and added, “I'm more fortunate than most, and I know it. Those not working in critical occupations only get to eat once a day.” Stepping down the corridor, he paused at a door, pushing it open for Cooper to look inside.

 Within was a large room, a flickering picture of a green forest, children dancing through the trees, while a silent audience watched, some of them taking scoops of food, lying on couches. All of them wore the same gray uniform, none showing a trace of emotion, or even interest in the people watching them.

 “They're on the edge of starvation,” he said. “All they have the energy to do is just lie there. Back when I was a kid, those viewrooms were full of life, music, song. Now all they show are the same bland pictures, from back before the Cataclysm, over and over again.” Stepping out of the room, he said, “It gets worse, Ensign. I hope you have a strong stomach.”

 “Is this because of the lost shipment?” he asked. “The transport that was hijacked.”

 “If you believe the Council, everything is the fault of the pirates, our ancient enemies. They've stolen our crops, our water, our resources. I don't believe it, not any more.”

 He followed the technician down the corridor to a hatch, which reluctantly slid open to reveal a shaft heading down into total darkness, rusty rungs attached to the wall. Without a second glance, the technician slid down onto the ladder, climbing into the Stygian gloom, and after a moment, Cooper followed, waiting with each step for the rung to collapse beneath him, sending him tumbling into infinity.

 Gradually, his eyes adapted to the lack of light, and he could make out signs of age and decay everywhere. Evidently even the most basic maintenance hadn't been applied here for years, maybe decades. At one point, he felt a breeze passing across his face, and ran his hand across the wall, finding a narrow crack that led to the outside air. Shaking his head, he continued down, until finally the technician stopped, swinging out through another hatch onto the deck.

 He dropped into another corridor, only a couple of faint lights shining, with a half-open door at the end through which he could hear groans of despair. The technician stepped forward, pushing open the hatch, and Cooper stepped out to find himself in a large, bare room, filled with people as far as he could see. The technician shone the torch around, shining the beam into pale faces, many of them deformed.

 “The legacy of our glorious ancestors,” the technician said. “I guess they didn't tell you about this.”

 “What happened here?”

 “Four hundred years of inbreeding. Four hundred years of the same few families. Most of the population has some sort of defect or another, though with most of us, it doesn't show. When a child is born that doesn't match what the Council deems acceptable, they usually seem to end up down here.” Turning off the light, he shook his head. “No food rations officially make it down here, and certainly no medical supplies. Some of us are willing to do more about it, but there's only so much we can organize without anyone finding them.”

 “What would happen if they did?”

 “Most of these people are meant to be dead, Ensign. I suspect that the Council would opt to make certain that their records were suitably accurate, one way or another.”

 Another man stepped forward, an empty bag in his hands, passing a box to a waiting pair of hands. As he stepped into the light, Cooper saw the familiar guard uniform, and nodded.

 “Trant.”

 “Ironic, isn't it. Officially, if I reported this, I'd get a promotion and orders to clean this up. Instead I've started to organize it.” Looking around, he said, “We've managed to make quite a chamber of horrors, haven't we. There are a dozen other places like this I could have shown you, lairs where we hide the undesirable so that we don't have to look at them.”

 “It's hard to believe.”

 “Oh, the Council has plans to end the genetic problem. We don't know what they have in mind, something down on Arcadia. All I do know is that no deformed child has been born to a Council member, or anyone in the upper echelons, for three generations. My guess is that they're hoping their offspring will inherit everything.” Shaking his head, he said, “Look around, Ensign. This is our future.”

 “Who else knows about this?”

 With a thin smile, he said, “Yorax suspects, but I've made sure to keep him out of it. As things stand at the moment, he's the only realistic hope of any change, though I think I've almost given up on the idea that we can ever improve on this.”

 “And it's getting worse?” 

 “Birth defects are rising exponentially, now. Not that the statistics are generally available. Why do you think the Council is still keeping all the women buried away where they can't be seen? Childbirth is something to be feared, here. If the general population knew what was going on, they might decide that the status quo was no longer in their best interests, and that they should do something about it.”

 “If you feel that way, why not tell them? If Security is behind it...”

 “Not everyone is. Enough that we might have a chance of overthrowing the Council, perhaps, but what happens next? What do we replace it with?” Shaking his head, he said, “I didn't bring you down here to offer you any solutions, Ensign, because I simply don't have any to give. Skybase is falling apart, and its people with it.”

 “There must be an answer,” Cooper replied. “You can't just give up and let this happen.”

 “We aren't,” the technician said. “The fact of the matter is that resources are scarce, and growing fewer. Even if we had the replacement components we need, there are only so many times that you can repair equipment before it wears out. I found an old manual a year ago, that outlined that this station had an estimated lifetime of a century.” With a barking laugh, he added, “It was built thirty years before the Cataclysm. A last enclave of our once-proud race.”

 “Officially, no-one is going to ask for your help, Ensign,” Trant said. “I don't know whether the Council are simply refusing to admit reality, or whether they have some sort of contingency plan that they don't intend anyone else to be a part of, but the fact remains that this situation cannot last forever. If matters get much worse, then I'll have to take some sort of action, but I've read enough history to know that violent revolutions rarely end well.”

 “Tell your people about all of this,” the technician said, passing him a data crystal. “That's all the data that we've gathered over the last decade. Everything we've dug out of the archives, usually without the knowledge of the Council. We need you to find a way out of this, or before long, all of us will die.”

 “I'll do what I can,” Cooper said. “Whatever that might be. I can't make any promises, and I can't speak for the Captain, but I'll pass all of this on, and tell them what I have seen.”

 “That's all we ask,” Trant said. “At this stage even that is more hope than any of us have had in a very long while.”

 “We'd better get him back to the waiting area,” the technician said. “Sooner or later someone's going to miss him, and that could lead to a lot of awkward questions.”

 “I can probably find my own way back up,” Cooper said. “There's no need for you to risk yourself any further. If anyone spots me, I'll just say I decided to go for a walk. I doubt anyone will question it.”

 “You might be surprised,” Trant replied. “Though with a squad of your troopers waiting for you, they won't detain you for long. One more thing. Be careful of Naxos. The man is a creature of the Council, and while I think he is an aggressive fool, he's a crack shot and good at his job. When the last Director was killed, he almost got the job. Would have, if he hadn't pushed for it too hard. I think some of the politicians are regretting not giving it to him.”

 Nodding, Cooper replied, “I'll be careful.” He pulled his datapad out of his pocket, running the camera across the room, saving the information for the next transmission to Alamo, before turning back to the corridor, beginning the long climb up to the familiar levels, a hundred pairs of eyes watching him as he went.

 No-one was waiting for him at the top, and discarding his borrowed uniform, he made his way along the corridors, careful to follow the twists and turns that the technician had guided him through, picking up a brisk pace. As he returned to the maintained section of the level, a frowning Naxos waited for him, arms crossed, two of his guards standing behind him.

 “I thought you were in a hurry,” he said. “Where have you been?”

 “Trying to find a working toilet,” he replied. “That, and I wanted to have a look around without one of you shadowing me.”

 A dark glare swept across the guard's face, but before he could say anything else, Hunt walked down the corridor behind him, his hand ostentatiously on his pistol.

 “We're all ready, boss. Everyone else is on board, and I've had all of our kit transferred.”

 “Good work, Corporal,” Cooper replied, pushing past Naxos. “I'm coming.”

 As he walked down the corridor, Naxos followed him, the scowl still locked on his face, all the way to the transport. No matter how hard he tried, Cooper couldn't get the image of those people in the room out of his mind. Something had to be done for them. Something.

Chapter 10

 The detention area was cold and dark, only illuminated by a single, pale green light in the ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the room. Evidently the sailship was used to accommodating involuntary passengers. Over the door, a larger version of the nerve gun covered the room, positioned to knock out everyone at once if necessary. From the water tap on the wall came a perpetual drip, counting away the seconds, a stain slowly spreading across the floor.

 One by one, everyone had been taken from the room, the crew of the Twenty-Two being taken away, until only Salazar and Harper remained. He had no way of telling the time, all his equipment confiscated in the search when they were brought on board, and it could just as easily have been hours or days. A box of foul-smelling rations sat in a corner, though no-one had been willing to sample them as yet.

 Rising to his feet, he walked around the room, looking up at the gun over the door. From what he had seen of this culture thus far, there seemed a good chance that it was non-functional, a threat that could not be deployed, but he didn't want to take the risk unless he found some other way out. For the third time he stalked around the room, looking for a weak spot, some gap in their defenses.

 “Give it up, Gabe,” Harper said.

 “That isn't like you.”

 “No terminal, no lock, and an air vent the size of a datarod. Sometimes there just isn't a way out.” She paused, then continued, “Alamo got the message. By now help is on the way. They won't abandon us.”

 “That doesn't mean we shouldn't try to escape.”

 “Unless you managed to smuggle in some cutters, I don't see how you are going to get through the bulkhead. We must be going somewhere, and perhaps the security there will be less restrictive.”

 With a rumble, the door opened, Tarak standing at the threshold, a gun pointed at Salazar's chest. Behind him, another man stood waving a pair of manacles, dangling them back and forth, and the pilot stepped forward to allow him to attach them to Salazar's wrists, locking them with a click. Salazar tugged, trying to ease his hands out of them, but they were far too tight, solid metal.

 “Don't bother,” the guard said. “You''ll just rub the skin off your wrists, and we're still going to make you work anyway. They'll be taken off when we get to the interrogation room. Now move.”

 Tarak gestured with his gun, and with a quick glance at Harper, Salazar walked down the corridor, bouncing with every step under the light acceleration. This ship looked different to the others, far more alien and strange, as though a completely different design mentality had been employed. Everything was light, designed to save weight, and control surfaces were few and far between.

 The guard pushed him through the third door on the right, which dilated to let him through, revealing a metal desk with a red-haired woman sitting behind it, wearing a shapeless brown uniform, writing scrawled on her shoulder. She looked up and glanced at the guard, who tapped the release to unlock the manacles, then gave Salazar another push into the room, the door closing behind him.

 “You speak English, I presume,” she said. “An officer of the Triplanetary Fleet. This will be something new.” Looking up, she added, “Are we going to have an easy time today, or are you going to make this a lot harder than it has to be?”

 “That depends on you,” he said, taking a seat. “For the record, I am Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, and according to the rules of war, that's all you get to know.”

 “My name is Valya, if that helps. Among other things, my responsibility is personnel processing, especially with new members of our society.”

 Folding his arms, Salazar said, “Let's get right to the heart of the matter. The most powerful ship in this system is on the way, and will be working to free both Harper and myself at the first opportunity. Why not speed that process?”

 “As it happens, Alamo has changed course, and is no longer heading to intercept this ship.”

 With a smile, Salazar said, “Which means nothing in the long-term. Naturally Captain Orlova will be rescuing the rest of my people first. That's exactly what I would want her to do.” Leaning forward, he added, “I repeat, you've antagonized the most powerful ship in the system. What are you planning to do about it?”

 “I gather you are a trained pilot,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “Do you have any other skills that we might find useful? Engineering, perhaps, or computer systems design? Ultimately, if we can't find anywhere else to put you, it'll be resource extraction, and I fear that your life expectancy will be considerably reduced.”

 Pausing, Salazar said, “I'll make a deal with you.”

 “I'm listening.”

 “You don't seriously think that you're going to get any useful information out of me, do you? I had some excellent training to resist interrogation techniques, and I'm certain you've guessed that. I suppose you could try and force information from me, but if you have any experience at all, you'll know that anything you extract in such a manner isn't reliable. Nor do you plan on putting me to work, not in any sort of risky situation. I'm too useful as a hostage and we both know it.”

 “Then what do you have in mind, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Best case, you contact Alamo and offer to release me. Triplanetary policy does not permit negotiation in such circumstances, but I suspect that Captain Orlova would be willing to write this incident off as a simple misunderstanding.”

 “Not going to happen.”

 With a smile, he said, “You'll have to forgive me. I'm an incurable optimist. In that case, let's talk. Not an interrogation, but just talk. We don't know anything about your culture, anything about your problems, and it's possible that we might be able to help.”

 “Help us? I thought you didn't negotiate with kidnappers.”

 “We do help those in need.” Looking around the room, he said, “I don't see any United Nations technology, for example. The Twenty-Two was littered with it.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “You're serious about this, aren't you?”

 With a nod, he said, “This is the only way you're going to get any useful information out of me. How long has this pointless conflict been going on?”

 “Since the Cataclysm,” she said. “The Council had the bulk of the resources, and demanded that everyone bow down before them, submit to their will.” Shaking her head, she said, “Our freedom is far too important to us for that, but when they seized our outer colonies...”

 “Those were yours?”

 “Oh, yes. Originally the Council only controlled Skybase and a few space stations. Over the years, those have all been cannibalized. They did have a larger space fleet, and they used it to grab critical installations, leaving us to scavenge over the leavings. When Wayfarer arrived, it was the same story. They came to us first, but the Council wasn't going to accept that.”

 “I think I see where this is going. Wayfarer arrived intact, didn't it.”

 “And began a survey of the system, to determine how the United Nations could assist us. There was talk of technological aid, of resupply, new stations and bases. Commander Kazinski suggested that this system could be the launching point of exploration and colonization all across this part of space. Of course, none of that would have been under the Council's control.”

 “So they took the ship.”

 “As well as the crew. Our people were massacred, the settlement Wayfarer was orbiting destroyed by orbital bombardment. There was nothing we could do about it, Sub-Lieutenant. Nothing at all. At the time, we didn't have any warships, and our efforts were purely focused on survival. It was only after we lost Wayfarer that we began to militarize, and it has cost us heavily in lives, potential, time.” Slamming her fist on the desk, she said, “That sacrifice will not be in vain. The blood we have spilled will have been well spent. At last we have an advantage, and we're going to use it.”

 She paused, looked Salazar in the eyes, and said, “Would your Captain agree to join our struggle against the Council? That would change the whole picture.”

 With a sigh, Salazar said, “We're not in the business of taking sides, and we're certainly not in the business of putting a slave-holding society in charge of anything. Not that I particularly like the way the Council operates, but from what I can see...”

 “We've had to survive!” she yelled, slamming her fist on the desk. “We had nothing, nothing at all, when our world died. A few leaky domes, a handful of sailships and a missile defense network that didn't work. With that we built a civilization, one based on freedom and liberty...”

 “Which appears to be dependent on slavery to keep itself going.”

 “That,” she said, “is nothing more than a temporary exigency caused by the war. Those we capture are offered the chance to work their way to citizenship. The guard who brought you here was born on Skybase.” Looking up at the ceiling, she took a deep breath, then continued, “What are your plans in this system? Why are you here? Or is that too dark a secret to share.”

 “Not at all,” he said. “Alamo is on a mission of exploration.”

 Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “She seems extremely well-armed for that. And I note that your first action upon entering the system was to launch an unprovoked attack against one of our ships.”

 “Put yourself in our place. You enter a new system, and the first thing you see is an armed ship attacking an unarmed vessel, one which is sending out a distress signal. What would you do?”

 She paused for a moment, then replied, “There is some merit to what you say, I admit, which is why we are willing to start from scratch. I ask again, what are your intentions?”

 “Somewhere beyond this system is a hostile race, an evolutionary offshoot from humanity. They've launched several attacks on our outposts and stations, and claim their goal as the conquest of the entire human race, potentially its extermination. All we know is that their homeworld is somewhere vaguely in this direction.”

 “And you're hunting them down.”

 Nodding, he asked, “Have you seen any signs of their presence?”

 “No,” she said. After a moment, she continued, “Maybe. A year ago, we did detect a reading of a ship in the outer system, well away from any installations. We assumed that it was something to do with the Council, a long-range probe, but at the time I don't think any of us accepted that explanation.”

 “Then they've already visited the system,” Salazar said. “Presumably they decided that you weren't a threat to their plans, and that you could wait until they had dealt with greater threats. There are other major powers in this part of the galaxy, several of them moving into this region.”

 Folding her hands together, she replied, “That implies that someone might offer us a better deal.”

 “Were they to arrive today, the United Nations would annex you, install a Governor, and likely indenture your entire population in order to pay for the supplies they would claim you need. You'd never be permitted to work off the debt. Perhaps a handful would be placed as puppet leaders, but I expect they'd use the Council for that. The Lunar Republic might be similar, but they're our allies these days. The Cabal, I suspect, would be worse. You'd be settled on Arcadia, stripped of your technology, and left to sink or swim. They discourage rival spacefarers, even on worlds they control.”

 “Whereas your Triplanetary Confederation is so much better,” she said with a sneer. 

 “Better than anyone else you are likely to encounter.”

 She paused for a moment, then asked, “Long term, what can you give us? What sort of help, aid, assistance?”

 “As I've said before, the Confederation will not negotiate for our release. The best deal you'll get is amnesty, and potentially normalized relations.”

 Turning away from the desk, she said, “I'm not talking about bartering for you.” She sighed, and said, “None of us are blind about the reality of our situation, Sub-Lieutenant. We're on the edge, out here, and we've staked everything on our next offensive. If it works, then we can survive. If it fails, we die. Or worse.”

 “I suppose you won't tell me what you are planning,” he replied.

 Stepping over to him, perching on the edge of her desk, she said, “There's one piece of information that I must have, Sub-Lieutenant. Will your commanding officer intervene to support the Council? Will she stop our forces again, as she did with the first attack on the Twenty-Two?”

 He paused, then replied, “I can't answer your question, and you know it.”

 With a smile, she said, “I suppose that if I was in your position, I'd would respond just as you are. The fortunes of war, I suppose. It's a pity that it looks as though we are on opposite sides.”

 “Are we?” he said.

 “If you are not with us...”

 “You are against us. That philosophy was tired centuries ago. There are always alternatives to fighting, especially when you have so little left to fight for. Are you going to carry on until the last two people are throwing rocks at each other?” She looked down at the deck, and he could tell his attack had hit home. “Build something new, something better, something stronger.”

 “Every time we tried, the Council stopped us.”

 “And, I'm guessing, every time they tried, you stopped them. A vicious circle that can only have one end.”

 “We'll see.” Looking down at her desk, she continued, “You did guess right, by the way. I have no intention of assigning either you or your companion to manual labor, or anything that will expose you to undesirable elements. Instead you will be kept in close confinement until further notice. I trust that you will make no foolish attempts to escape.”

 “And then?”

 She paused, then replied, “We're not fools, Sub-Lieutenant. I know the power that your ship possesses. Perhaps if it was up to me, we would return you to your people. Maybe when all of this is over, we'll be able to do just that. Until then, we must have some sort of security, a guarantee that your people won't launch an unprovoked attack against us.”

 “That we will never do.”

 “With the fate of what is left of our civilization resting on it, would you take a chance?” She tapped a control, and the door opened. “You can, I think, make your way back to your cell without restraint. It isn't as though you have anywhere to run to.”

 Outside, Tarak was waiting, stoically standing in the corridor, arms crossed, nerve gun in easy reach. It would have been simple for Salazar to rush him, to try and take the weapon, but it would be pointless. Valya was right. There was nowhere for him to run, no chance of escape. With a smile on his face, he stepped out into the corridor, the door closing behind him, and walked towards his cell.

 “Did you have a useful conversation?”  asked.

 “What business is it of yours?”

 “I told you that my grandfather was Earth-born. That gives me every reason I need to side with the Coalition. The Council have given me nothing other than pain and misery. The future of this system is right here.” He paused at the entrance to the cell. “I trust that in time, you will come to realize that. And to learn that not everything is as it appears to be.”

 He pulled a lever, and the cell door slid open, Harper still sitting cross-legged where she had been before. As Salazar walked in, Tarak pulled a pair of flasks from his pocket, placing them on the floor by the entrance, both filled with the same purple liquid as before. He looked up with a smile, hand purchased on the door controls.

 “Have faith. Everything will work out for the best. Trust me, I know.” With a tug, the door slid shut, and the two of them were alone. Salazar reached down for a bottle, opening the top and taking a swig. The juice was growing on him, and he drained it down in half a dozen gulps.

 “Well?” Harper asked.

 “The Coalition is about to do something very stupid, but I don't think we're going to be here to see it.” Looking at the door, he said, “Tarak's a double-agent. He's working for the Council. I'd bet my life on it.”

 Harper shrugged, and replied, “I have a horrible feeling that you are.”

Chapter 11

 Orlova stepped into the sensor room, technicians everywhere taking measurements and adjusting their readings, Powell presiding over the affair like the ringmaster of a circus, the beaming smile on his face confirming that he was in his element. The holotable flashed from one planet to another, the new data updating each time, building a larger picture of the system. For a few moments, she let it all wash over her, brilliant images of tumbling rocks, swirling gas giants, and crimson-hued worlds passing by her while she watched.

 Belatedly, Powell looked up, realizing that she had arrived, and ushered her into his cramped office. The room was filled with charts, maps and documents, a shelf of old paper books on one side, and an old brass orrery carefully mounted on the desk, strapped down to make sure that it could not fall. It hadn't taken him long to make the office his own.

 “Victorian,” he said. “Three hundred years old. Accurate, according to what they knew in those days. The universe has certainly expanded a lot since then. I take it you are here for my report into this system.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Have you seen the data Ensign Cooper submitted?”

 “It matches the overall picture,” he said. “And I'm afraid it is not a promising one. As far as I can see, spacefaring civilization in this system has perhaps thirty years of life remaining.”

 “So little?”

 “The determinant factor is that ultimately, there is an inhabitable planet left to flee to. Without such a haven, I would estimate more like eighty years, but I can't see everyone waiting to die on deteriorating space stations and outposts. I should stress as well that there is a substantial error margin built into my calculations. With so many critical systems operating with improper backups, that timeframe could be considerably advanced.”

 “Thirty years, then,” she said. “What happens next?”

 “A reversion to barbarism, if they are fortunate. One moment.” He leaned out, and yelled, “Sanchez, get in here, will you?”

 A young man, one of the few wearing a uniform, stepped into the room, and asked, “Problem? I'm still integrating the new data.”

 “This is Technical Officer Sanchez, Captain. Don't be deceived by his youthful appearance, he already has advanced degrees in sociology and mathematics.”

 Sanchez shrugged, and replied, “You'd be surprised how often the two work together.”

 “The Captain wants your assessment on the future of this system.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I hope you're in the mood for some bad news. As far as I can tell, there's an excellent chance that everyone on the colonies will be dead in forty years. From the interviews we've obtained, they'll stay in their artificial environments until the last possible moment, without making any preparations in advance. That means dumping a few thousand refugees in a hostile environment, who have no training or knowledge of the terrain. They'll die like flies. If the local population doesn't kill them first.”

 “There are people on the planet?” she asked.

 “Oh, almost certainly. I doubt the war killed them all off.”

 “War?”

 Sanchez glanced at Powell, who replied, “We haven't finished gathering our data yet, but it seems pretty clear that their Cataclysm was artificial.  They did it to themselves.” He paused, then said, “I suppose it is possible that they were attacked by some sort of interstellar civilization, but I would expect to find more evidence of that.” He tapped a control, and an image of Arcadia appeared over his desk. “Nuclear war, Captain. Almost certainly.”

 Nodding, Sanchez added, “We've identified the sites of worst damage, and there is a remarkable correlation to the areas where you would expect cities to form. Natural river crossings, harbors, sites of valuable resources. All wiped out in the war.”

 “They must know,” Orlova said. “Why not tell us?”

 “Maybe they're ashamed of it,” Powell said. “I would be.”

 “Or perhaps most of them aren't aware of it,” Sanchez suggested. “This would hardly be the first culture to suppress information regarding its origins. With selective education of the next generation, they could wipe out all knowledge of the war.”

 “Ancient enemies,” Orlova muttered. “Something in Cooper's report. One of the underground figures he met told him that the pirates were their ancient enemies.”

 “There you are,” Powell said, thumping the desk. “Two sides in a war, and the survivors of both factions are still fighting the same battles, all these centuries later. If you want some good news, then Arcadia is thriving. The biosphere is recovering nicely from the damage undertaken, as far as we can tell from orbit. I'd expect far lower genetic diversity than you would otherwise expect, but that isn't a game-changing problem. Indeed, we might be able to help there, bring in breeding stock from Jefferson, or even Thule.”

 “And the genetic issue?”

 “Part of the same problem. A small number of survivors might breed prodigiously, but the limitations of that small pool will get you in the end. It's definitely a contributing factor, Captain, though ultimately failing equipment will finish them. If that UN ship hadn't turned up, then they might already have died out.”

 “Solution?” Orlova asked.

 Powell glanced at Sanchez, and said, “Ending the war would certainly help. This is a resource-rich system, and they've not really begun to take advantage of that. There's no evidence that they've ever visited any of the other planets in the system, for a start. No sign even of probes or satellites. Our geological team has already identified numerous possibilities for prospecting.”

 “And the planet? You said there were survivors?”

 “Almost certainly,” Sanchez said. “We've run projections based on studies from Earth, from the 21st century, and it's surprisingly hard to wipe out every human from a planet.” Gesturing at the map, he said, “This northern continent didn't sustain anything like as much damage as the rest of the planet, for example, and there are a number of islands. Even without the space stations, human life isn't in any danger of becoming extinct.”

 “That's theory, of course,” Powell said.

 “I disagree,” Sanchez replied, shaking his head. “Look at the location of the ground station. Right in the middle of an undamaged area. I'd bet they have contact with the survivors on the surface.”

 “Perhaps.” With a frown, the old man continued, “Ironic, isn't it. They had the war that we managed to avoid. During our Third World War, less than five percent of humanity's nuclear arsenal was used, and it was enough to damn near precipitate a new Dark Age. Here, I'd say they released everything they had. Thousands of detonations, all across the planet. A nuclear winter, ozone depletion, the whole catalog.” Sighing, he added, “We could have done this to Earth, all too easily.”

 Nodding, Sanchez said, “If things had gone a little differently, it might be an Arcadian starship orbiting Mars, right now, picking over the remnants of our civilization. Strange to think, isn't it.”

 “Do you have any recommendations?” Orlova asked. 

 “We're still gathering data.”

 “That's not good enough, gentlemen. We can continue to harvest information from our probes for weeks, months, but we haven't got the time to waste. I need some sort of a plan, something I can use, and I want it in the next twenty-four hours.” Turning to Powell, she said, “This is the largest science team that any military starship has ever taken on an expedition, and I want to see that resource exploited to the full. I need an alternative for this system, and I'm counting on you to give it to me. Understood?”

 “It isn't as simple as that,” Sanchez said. “If we make a mistake...”

 “I would suggest that you don't,” Orlova said. “Tens of thousands of lives are at stake.”

 “We understand, Captain,” Powell said. “It should be quite a challenge, but I'm confident that my team is equal to the task. What do you propose to do with it, though?”

 “That depends on whether I can talk any sense into the Council. In a few…” Before she could finish, a siren sounded, the ship being called to alert status, and her communicator beeped.

 “Nelyubov here, Captain. We need you up on the bridge on the double, ma'am. A fleet of sailships is heading towards the ice extraction outpost on the innermost moon, and the Council has formally requested our assistance in fighting them off.”

 “Set a course for the moon, Lieutenant, but stall the Council for the moment. I'll be along in a few moments.” Turning to Powell, she began, “I'll want a full...”

 “Report on the moon and the settlement,” he said. “It'll be waiting for you on the bridge.”

 “Good,” she replied, turning to sprint for the nearest elevator, the door waiting for her. She jumped in, slamming her hand on the control, sending it flying through the decks to her destination. Anxiously, she waited for the doors to open again onto the bridge, tapping her foot on the floor in frustration. The decision she had hoped to postpone was forcing itself upon her. At some point in the next few minutes, she'd have to choose a side.

 Finally, the door opened, and she raced over to the holotable, looking at the tactical display. Five ships, heading directly for the moon, on a course that would take them into synchronous orbit. It didn't seem likely that they would be able to launch an invasion, but that might not be their goal. In that position, they'd be able to hold everyone on the surface hostage. Powell's promised data package flashed up, and she started to skim over it. No chance that they would be able to do anything to help themselves, only very limited defenses at their disposal. They were wide open.

 “Eight minutes to target, ma'am,” Foster said. “We'll be there one minute before the enemy vessels, in a perfect position for a strike.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Go to battle stations.”

 “Captain,” Nelyubov said, “This could spiral out of control very quickly.”

 “I'm aware of that. Spin up the laser and get a missile salvo ready to fire. You will not, however, fire without a direct order from me.”

 “Understood,” he said. “Thanks for that.”

 “I'd rather at least try and get out of this without a war.”

 “Administrator Kelgar is insisting on speaking with you, ma'am,” Weitzman said.

 “Very well. On screen.”

 “Aye.”

 The starfield on the viewscreen winked off, to be replaced by the view of the head of a table, Kelgar sitting in the middle, flanked by Yorax and Raval, the latter still looking uncomfortable at her very presence.

 “Captain, I am informed by the Director of Combat Operations,” he glared at a defiant Yorax, “that we are unable to defend our outpost from attack. If losing the freighter was a disaster, losing the outpost would be a nightmare. I therefore am left with no alternative than to formally request Triplanetary assistance in our battle against the pirates.”

 Nodding, Raval said, “We're dependent on weekly shipments, Captain. The next one due in two days. If they are able to take control of orbital space, they could demand anything they wanted, and we'd be forced to go along with their requests.”

 “This does not come easily, Captain,” Kelgar said. “Understand that. Nevertheless, for the good of my people, I must make this request.” 

 “Reinforcements are on the way,” Yorax added. “I can't get a gunboat squadron to you for at least an hour, though. By then it might be too late.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “We're already on our way, gentlemen. I intend to do everything I can to bring about a satisfactory resolution to this crisis. Alamo out.”

 “Nice and diplomatic,” Nelyubov said. “You haven't promised them a damn thing.”

 “Weitzman, I need you to hail the enemy ships. I know they haven't replied to our communications thus far, but I can't negotiate with them if they won't talk.”

 “Spaceman Hooke's trying to hack into their systems,” the technician replied. “I could have him force the channels open, if he can break through their firewall.”

 “Get on it,” she ordered. “As fast as he can.”

 Frowning, Spinelli said, “Ma'am, if I'm correct, Director Yorax was lying to the Council.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Tapping a monitor, he said, “There's a gunboat squadron positioned right here, permanently on patrol. If they lit their engines now, they'd be in position in ten minutes, not an hour. I suppose there might be some sort of mechanical defect, but it seems odd not to put their best ships on guard duty.”

 “You don't think he's working for the other side, do you?” Nelyubov said.

 Shaking her head, she replied, “More likely he's arranged this to force the Council to co-operate with us. If he concluded that only a matter of life and death would push them into line, he could have arranged this.” After a pause, she added, “He's forcing my hand, as well. I can't sit back and watch them cut off essential supplies to tens of thousands of civilians, and he knows it.” Turning to Weitzman, she continued, “Get me that comm link, Spaceman.”

 “Working, ma'am.”

 Looking up from his panel, Nelyubov said, “All decks are at battle stations. Firing range in five minutes, thirty seconds.”

 “Plot a firing solution.”

 He nodded, getting to work, and she looked up at the trajectory track, watching the sailships move in, smoothly gliding into orbit. Theoretically, they hadn't yet done anything wrong, nothing that would invite aggression, but that base on the surface was extremely vulnerable. A couple of well-aimed missiles would destroy it.

 New trajectory plots flashed into life, the gunboat patrol finally on the move, but they'd arrive far too late to do any good. By then, the battle would be over. The seconds counted down, hastening the moment when she'd have to give the order to open fire, or let the ships safely pass by. They had a three minute window of opportunity. More than enough time for a massacre.

 “Got them!” Weitzman said. “Open channel, right to their bridge, and they can't shut it off.”

 “Good,” Orlova said. “This is Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, commanding officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. I order you to stand down, and proceed to high orbit.”

 A thuggish voice replied, “You going to shoot us, lackey?”

 “Any attempt to damage the station will result in the use of deadly force. I will not permit a vital source of raw materials for the people of this system to be destroyed.”

 “We don't want to destroy it. We want our share, and we're going to have it. No longer will we allow the imperialists to deny us essential supplies. No more. If they will not give us what we want, we have no option other than to take it by force.” He paused, and said, “We are holding two of your officers. Stand down, let us finish what we came here to do, and we will release them.”
 “As soon as the gunboats arrive, there will be a battle, and you will lose,” Orlova pressed. “There's a better alternative than fighting.”

 “Not for us, Captain. Maybe there never has been. This isn't your home and it isn't your fight. We turn over your people, and you can go on your way. We don't want or need you here.”

 Pausing, Orlova muted the channel, then turned to Weitzman, and asked, “I'm going to guess that the same system is used on most of their ships, yes?”

 “All of them,” he replied. “Hooke just picked the lead.”

 “What about the Council. Those gunboats?”

 “I can hail them whenever you want.”

 “But can you make sure that they can't turn me off?”

 He paused, then nodded. “I think so, ma'am.”

 “Set it up. Quickly.”

 Frowning, Nelyubov asked, “What are you going to do?”

 “Threats aren't going to work, not any more. These people are so damn desperate that they are willing to throw their life away for an advantage that might only hold for a matter of days. Even if by some miracle they were able to capture that base intact, they don't have the ships or supplies to keep it going.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “I hate to put it in such simple terms, but as far as we know, the people on Skybase outnumber those on the outer moons by ten to one.”

 “Under conditions that could be considered a crime against humanity. There has to be a better way than that.”

 “Channel open, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “At least for a few minutes. I doubt it'll hold much longer. You're on to every ship and installation within one light-minute.”

 “That should be more than enough, Spaceman. Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, she began. “This is Lieutenant-Captain Orlova, representative of the Triplanetary Confederation. In about an hour, there will be a battle that will almost certainly destroy both spacefaring civilizations in this system. Not that it matters. According to our analysis, based on studies from other systems, within thirty years, forty at the outside, all of you will be dead, along with your children, your culture, and everything you've fought to preserve for the last four centuries.”

 Everyone on the bridge watched her silently as she continued, “Under your current course, all of you are doomed. There is another way, an alternative. If you can work together, put aside your squabbles, and join forces for the common good, you might be able to survive, build something that could last for another four centuries. I call for representatives from the Council and the Coalition to meet here, on Alamo, as neutral territory, to come to a peace settlement.”

 “They're trying to shut you off, ma'am,” Weitzman warned.

 “Let me add something else. I am temporarily annexing this moon for the Triplanetary Confederation. Any ship entering low orbit will be subject to immediate attack, no matter what side they are on. We will protect and defend the settlement on the moon from any aggressive act. Rest assured that my ship has the power to enforce this decision. The choice is yours.” Looking across at Weitzman, she said, “You can close the channel now, Spaceman.”

 “Are we really going to do it?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Let's see if those sailships are willing to test us.”

 She looked at the trajectory track, watching as the ships moved in, sticking to their original course. Then, at the last possible second, they veered off, picking up more speed to put themselves into a higher orbit, out of bombardment range of the planet, but close to Alamo's current location.

 “I have the commander of the sailship squadron for you, ma'am,” Weitzman said.

 “Let's hear him.”

 The gruff voice returned, asking, “What guarantees do we have that you will not impose an unsatisfactory peace settlement? We cannot bend our knee to the Council, and will not subject ourselves to their tyranny.”

 “I have no intention of imposing any sort of a peace on your people,” Orlova replied. “Alamo will serve as neutral meeting ground, and hopefully you'll be able to work out a settlement of your own. If you truly decide that mutual annihilation is what you want, then we'll let you kill yourselves after we leave. All I'm asking is that you try to make peace.”

 There was a long pause, and he said, “I will lead a negotiation team of three. Further, we will keep your two officers as hostages against any hostile act on your part. Make no mistake, Captain, our will is as iron as yours. I will board your ship in two hours, Earth time. Squadron out.”

 “That's one down,” Foster said.

 “I have Administrator Kelgar for you, ma'am,” Nelyubov said.

 “What is the meaning of this!” the Councilman yelled. “You were supposed to help us, not seize our station for yourselves!”

 “Your enemies seem willing to take a chance on peace,” Orlova replied. “They've agreed to send a delegation. You wanted this situation resolved, and so it is.”

 On the screen, she could see Raval whispering something in Kelgar's ear, and her skin began to crawl. After what seemed like an eternity, Kelgar nodded, looking back up at the screen.

 “Very well. Raval, Yorax and I will come to your ship. Our gunboats will continue to high orbit to match theirs. If this is a trick, then you will pay dearly for it, Captain. I know that we cannot destroy your ship, but everyone in our fleet will die in the attempt, and give you a battle that you will not soon forget. Skybase out.”

 “They both seem nice and friendly,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

 “Why, Lieutenant, whatever gave you that idea?” she said with a smile. “At least we've got them talking. While they are doing that, they might agree not to shoot each other. It's a start.”

 “I hope it's enough,” he replied.

Chapter 12

 Cooper sat at the rear of the cockpit, next to Cantrell, watching every move the pilot made as he guided the transport through the atmosphere, on its final approach. Over to his left, Corporal Hunt stood by the sensor station, looking at the display with every impression of knowing what the readings meant. He glanced down at his datapad, making sure that the datafeed from Alamo was intact, passing the telemetry from the transport over for constant analysis. He might miss something, but the monitoring crew wouldn't.

 The door slid open, and Naxos stepped in, glaring down at Cooper, saying, “We'll be on the surface in a minute. As I expected, our security precautions were adequate. I think you can stop bothering the crew now.”

 “I'd say untested rather than adequate,” Cantrell replied. “Besides, there's a ceasefire, in case you've forgotten. A peace conference.”

 His face settled into a scowl, and he said, “Outsiders interfering with our affairs. Not something that should be tolerated. Our gunboat squadrons could smash their sailships from the sky in a matter of minutes. I've already been preparing a battle plan for submission to the Council.”

 “Lots of one-syllable words, I'm guessing,” Cantrell said.

 Shaking his head, Naxos said, “I don't know why I am talking to you. Soon you'll be gone from the system, and we can end the war on our own terms. No words are going to bring this to an end, only action.” He paused at the door, and said, “By the way, so you know. I've been named as acting commander of the ground station.” Rising tall, he turned and stormed out of the room, the door closing behind him.

 “Does he realize he's been exiled?” Cantrell asked.

 “Maybe he hasn't,” Cooper replied. “Maybe someone on the Council has decided that we need a watchdog. There's something down on the surface that they don't want us to see.” He paused, and said, “Did you need to goad him like that?”

 “Sorry, I couldn't resist. He made it so damned easy.”

 With a thin smile, he turned to the viewscreen, watching the descent. Flames licked across the screen as the transport slammed into the atmosphere, deep in the plasma sheath, and his datapad winked with the expected loss of signal. After a moment, the view cleared, replaced with a sea of green and brown, land as far as the eye could see, low forests, trickling blue streams, mountains coated in white ice.

 Shaking her head, Cantrell said, “If I had the choice between this and that space station, I'd be on the next shuttle down.”

 “Maybe,” Cooper said. “It might look like paradise, but I'd bet there is a serpent in the garden. Besides, we're both spaceborn. The product of artificial, regulated environments, manufactured food, treated water, purified air. Down there, none of that exists. I can understand why they'd be reluctant to turn pioneer, not when the nearest thing they've ever done to a harvest is pulled a lever and wait for the food to come out.”

 “Still,” Cantrell said, “you'd think that they would take more advantage of all of this. It's beautiful, Gabe. Hell, if they don't want it, we'll have it. Open this world up to colonization, and there'll be ten thousand settlers here by the end of the year.”

 “We're coming in for landing,” the pilot said, pointing at a dot on the viewscreen, in the middle of a brown, barren area. “Hold on. There are some high crosswinds today.”

 As Hunt sat down in the nearest couch, Cooper looked at the base, frowning. It would have been perfectly at home on Mars, or Callisto, a round dome planted in the middle of paradise, right down to an airlock with a docking collar attached, next to a flat, gray landing strip. A series of tall tanks were mounted to one side, labeled in strange hieroglyphics.

 “Over there,” Cantrell said, gesturing at some crumbling ruins at the far side of the desert, on the edge of the horizon.

 “Take a look at them tonight,” the pilot said. “Strange in the moonlight.”

 “You ever gone out there to take a look?” Hunt asked, and the pilot turned away, a frown on his face.

 “Outside? Why would I do that?”

 Dust kicked up as the transport settled on the ground, the docking collar extending out to the airlock, a series of clunks as the locks snapped into place. Cooper looked across at the sensors, shaking his head. Atmosphere, pressure, everything was just about perfect outside. Even the gravity was only a fraction heavier than Earth-norm. In every respect, an ideal environment.

 “We're down and safe,” the pilot said. “I'm going to start post-flight checks. You can head over to the base now if you want.”

 “Actually,” Cooper said, “I thought we'd go outside. Is there any transport on the base?”

 “Transport? For what?”

 “There must be some sort of vehicle outside,” Cantrell said.

 “We don't go out there unless we have to. I've never been outside the dome, except for the outer hull inspection. Most of that is done by remote, anyway.”

 “I see,” she said, glancing at Cooper. “Maybe we should take a look for ourselves.”

 “I agree.” Turning to Hunt, he said, “Corporal, go over to the base and take a good look around. Don't get in anyone's way, and don't force yourself anywhere they don't want you, but make sure to get good recordings of everything. If you don't hear from me in an hour, come looking.”

 “Aye, sir,” he said, and the two of them stepped out of the bridge, heading to the nearest airlock. Unsurprisingly, Naxos was waiting for them, arms folded, one of his guards standing beside him.

 “Where do you think you are going?”

 “Through you if you don't get out of the way,” Cooper said. “We're going outside to take a look around. You're welcome to come with us if you want.”

 One of the guards glanced at him, and Naxos said, “There's nothing out there.”

 “Then you can hardly have any objection to us taking a look.”

 For a second, he thought they were going to get into a fight right there in the corridor, but Hunt and his team moved in, looming with as much menace as they could muster, and Naxos finally shook his head.

 “Fine. Go out there. Waste everyone's time. I'll be watching you, Ensign. Be sure of that.”

 Stepping through the airlock, Cooper watched as the mechanism cycled, shaking his head. Normally, on a world with a breathable atmosphere, both doors would open together as a matter of course, but here they seemed to be taking extra care to make sure that none of the outside air made it into the ship. Finally the green light flashed on, the door opened, and he took a deep breath of clean, cool air.

 “Let's go and see what they've got to hide,” Cooper said, climbing down the ladder, Cantrell following him. He dropped onto the hardened field, looking up at the looming transport, and wrinkled his nose as the stench hit him. Cantrell coughed, her face turning green, and they quickly moved away from the ship, the odor slowly fading.

 “They're not lying about their cargo,” she said, shaking her head. “That's vile.”

 “Good cover, though,” Cooper said. “Would you question it?”

 “Probably not. Where do you want to start?”

 Looking around, he said, “Let's go around the perimeter, see if there is anything unusual. Someone must come outside occasionally, even if it's only for maintenance.”

 “That isn't going to take very long,” she said, heading over to the nearest dome. By all appearances, it was the same as a hundred similar structures on Mars, left over from the original settlement of the planet, but the idea of one being planted on a world that looked so much like Earth was strange. A faint plume of steam rose into the air from the recycling system, working at full power.

 Along the ground, a rough track followed the perimeter of the base, marks of boot prints where technicians had repaired damage, patches on the wall where gaps had been fixed in place, some of them more permanently than others. Cooper peered at one of them, shaking his head. Still airtight, still sealed, though if anything the air outside was purer than the atmosphere inside the transport had been.

 Clearing the dome, they came to the communications mast, towering over the terrain, the metal beginning to rust from age, the cables bundled together as though huddling for protection against the environment. Splatters of water began to drop on his head, and Cooper smiled. It was beginning to rain.

 “Three times I've walked on a world with air, and each one different. This is the best.”

 Cantrell shook her head, and said, “What's the point?” Cantrell asked. “If they are so starved of resources, why not ship all of this up to Skybase where they can make proper use of it?”

 “Psychological barriers can be the hardest to break through, I guess,” he replied. A second, smaller dome connected to the other one, this one with tubes heading down into the ground, piles of abandoned digging equipment left outside, stripped down to their framework for tools and components, scavenged as efficiently as everything else in this system.

 Looking out across the horizon, Cooper could just make out green beyond this wasteland. Placing this dome here had been a deliberate decision, keeping it away from the temptations of the environment beyond. In the far distance, mountains glistened invitingly, snow-topped peaks seeming to beckon them forward. He stood and watched, tiny dots as birds darted about the sky, driven around by the wind.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “Just beautiful.”

 Cantrell had wandered off, and she called over, “Come here. I've found something!” He raced over, and looked down at the ground to see a series of deep, rutted tracks, heading off into the distance, running back to the wall of the dome. He stepped over, and nodded. A vehicular airlock, set right into the wall.

 “Well-used,” Cantrell said, moving over to the controls. “UN design. I can hack it if you want.”

 “Go ahead,” he said, drawing his pistol. “If they're watching us, they already know that we've uncovered their little secret.”

 With a low rumble, the doors opened, revealing a trio of buggies, all of them outfitted with pressurized cabins, ready for use. Their wheels were caked in fresh mud, brown splatters across their bodies. Stepping up to the nearest, Cooper peered into the cabin, the remains of a half-eaten meal resting on the seat.

 “That answers that,” Cantrell said. “They've been used in the last few days. Maybe this morning.” She looked down at her datapad, and said, “That track heads towards a forested area, twenty, twenty-five miles away. Our probes picked up a couple of heat signatures from that region that might have been campfires.”

  His communicator chirped, and he pulled it out, glancing at the time, “Wow. We've been out here twenty minutes.” Flicking the channel, he said, “Cooper here. Go ahead.”

 “Hunt here, sir,” the Corporal replied. “We've just about finished the tour. It didn't take long. Frankly, I got the impression they were rushing us through, but I don't think we missed any part of the base. The normal complement of the base is about a dozen people, sir. Inside, well, you've been to the museum at Gagaringrad?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then you know what this looks like, sir. Normal dome, pretty old, but all UN issue. Well past its service life, but they're maintaining it well. There's something strange, though.”

 “What?” 

 “The one area they've built up is the medical unit. There are beds for a couple of dozen people, and by the looks of it, used frequently. Private Rhodes noticed that the medical waste bins were all full, and there was a lot more equipment there than in the rest of the base. Aside from that, sir, I don't really have anything special to report. Except that I got the impression that they take a lot more care of this base than the other sites we've seen. Even Skybase.”

 “Thanks, Corporal. Where are they taking you next?”

 “To the mess for a meal, sir. I've instructed that we will stick with our own rations, and I've had Specialist Gidzenko test the water. When are you coming back in, sir?”

 “I'm not sure, Corporal. We might be out here for a while. Don't let them outnumber you, and maintain constant contact with Alamo. I'll call you when I can. Cooper out.”

 “I know what you are thinking,” Cantrell said, as he put his communicator away.

 With a shrug, he said, “They must know that we've found this place by now. Let's face it, their secret was out as soon as we stepped outside the hatch.”

 “Quite right,” Naxos said, walking into the garage, a pistol in his hand, wearing a pressure suit. “You are currently in a restricted area, and I'm going to have to ask you to return to the base at once. We don't want a diplomatic incident, do we?”

 Cooper covered Naxos with his pistol, and replied, “What exactly are you afraid we'll find out there? Or do you even know?”

 “I know that I am under orders that you should not leave the base. After all, there is a peace conference on, and we wouldn't want anything to jeopardize it, would we? Now shall we go back inside, or I am going to have to do something that we'll all regret?”

 The engine roared on the nearest buggy, and Naxos turned with a start, giving Cooper a chance to dive towards him, drawing his combat knife and ripping a hole in his suit. The guard looked down, panicked, struggling out of Cooper's grasp, but the trooper had him pinned too tightly, and Cantrell stepped calmly over, picking up the guard's discarded pistol, leveling it at his head.

 “Your work?” Cooper asked.

 Waving her datapad in the air, she said, “Wonderful how many systems can be operated remotely. They never even bothered updating the operating software. Clumsy.”

 “Let me go!” Naxos yelled. “My suit!”

 Cantrell reached down, pulling off the guard's helmet and tossing it away. For a second, he held his breath, before finally, reluctantly, opening his mouth. He looked at Cooper with venom in his eyes.

 “When I report this...”

 “Good point,” Cooper said, pulling out his communicator. “Cooper to Hunt. Send someone out here on the double, will you? I need a babysitter.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied. “Private Danus will be along in a minute.”

 “No hurry,” he said, looking down at the guard. “We're going to be leaving you here with one of our friends, and you are going to behave. Is that understood? No-one's going to be sending any messages anywhere until we've finished our investigation, and found out just what it is that the Council is trying to keep secret.”

 “You're going out there?” he said, shaking his head. “We don't leave in less than platoon strength. There are savages out there in the forests, you fool. Barbarian beasts who eat people alive, and will gladly slice your throat and laugh as you die.” Looking at Cantrell, he said, “Take my word for it. Go out there alone, and you won't come back.”

 “That's our problem. Yours is figuring out exactly how you are going to explain holding a pair of honored guests at gunpoint. Or telling the Council that you let us get away.” He paused, and said, “In fact, I think we'll send a message to that effect.”

 His eyes widened, and he replied, “You bastard! They'll space me for this!”

 Danus stepped around the side, a pistol in his hand, and looked at the squirming figure on the floor, writhing in the mud, half-out of his suit. A beaming smile crossed the Neander's face as he  stepped over to the far wall, pulling down a long length of cable.

 “I don't think he'll be any trouble, sir,” the trooper replied. “In fact, I think we might be able to have a nice little conversation.” Looking across at Cooper, he said, “Corporal Hunt told me to pass on that the base is secure, sir, and that no-one's going to ask any questions about where this gentleman is for the time being.”

 “Good.” Looking at Naxos again, he continued, “Don't do any damage to him, just keep him confined until we get back. Hopefully, that should be within a few hours, unless the local savage natives decide to eat us.”

 “They might,” Naxos said. “Look, let me go, come back into the base, and we'll forget this ever happened. I won't report it, I swear. No-one will ever know!”

 “Right now I think that benefits you a lot more than it does us.”

 Cantrell poked her head out from the cabin, and said, “Engine's ready, and she's got enough juice for a six hour run at least. We can move out whenever you want, unless you're enjoying your conversation.”

 Standing up, Cooper brushed himself off, and said, “We'll see you soon.”

 “No!” Naxos yelled, as Danus wrapped the cable around him. “I'm serious, Cooper, they'll kill you if you go.”

 Stepping into the cabin, Cooper sat down next to Cantrell, and gestured at the tracks. “Come on. The road goes ever onward.”

 “You've got to stop reading those old books,” she replied, as the engine rumbled into gear.

Chapter 13

 “I quite understand, Captain,” Salazar said. “Under the circumstances, Harper and I are both willing to serve as hostages for Alamo's good conduct.” The hacker glared at him, as he continued, “We're being treated well, and are under no restraint.”

 “Watch yourself,” Orlova replied. “If anything goes wrong, I'll do my best to get you out in a hurry, but the situation could deteriorate extremely quickly. We'll contact you every six hours, and if you miss a call, someone will come and take a look.”

 “Understood, ma'am,” he said. “Salazar out.” Looking at Harper, he added, “We don't really have a choice. This might be the break that we've been looking for.”

 “I just wish that it was someone else's neck on the line.” With a shrug, she waved her arm, and said, “I can deactivate these damn bracelets in a few seconds. Pretty simple device.”

 “They'll know we did it, though.”

 Nodding, she said, “I've already rigged mine so that I can turn it off when I want. Pass me your arm.” He held out her arm, and she started to work the mechanism, gently prying a portion of the casing loose. “This is really an opportunity, I guess. A chance to gather some intelligence. Under other circumstances we might have arranged this.”

 “Be careful,” he replied, as she finished the work. “Remember that there's a summit meeting going on. We don't want to do anything that might jeopardize the peace negotiations.”

 With a shrug, she said, “Doesn't mean I can't keep my eyes open. Never know when something might turn out to be useful.” Pointing at his armband, she said, “Just squeeze that plate as tight as you can, and it'll break the connection. You'll be invisible.”

 “Got it,” he said, and the door opened, Valya and Tarak stepping inside, looking around their spartan quarters. Two bunks, a chair, and a drinking tap, one that only occasionally dripped.

 “I hope this is satisfactory,” Tarak said. “Best quarters we could spare. If there's anything else you need, just let me know, but our facilities out here are somewhat limited.”

 “This will be fine,” Salazar said. “I'd rather we didn't spend much time in here anyway. I was rather hoping that we might get some sort of a tour. If we're going to be on this rock for a few days, it would be nice to know our way around.”

 Tarak glanced at Valya, who said, “That seems reasonable enough.”

 Nodding, Harper added, “If we're going to be providing you with some new equipment, it would be a good idea for me to take a look at your technological baseline.” Gesturing at Salazar, she said, “Space combat is more my friend's line.”

 Glaring at her, he added, “I wouldn't mind taking a look at your shuttles. I trained as a fighter pilot before I transferred to the regular Fleet.”

 “A fighter pilot?” Valya said, her eyes widening. “Alamo carries fighters?” 

 With a smile, Harper said, “I'm afraid Alamo's defensive/offensive capabilities are classified.”

 “I'd like to take a look at the tactical systems,” she said, shaking her head. “Tarak, you might as well show Lieutenant Harper the engineering levels, maybe the reactor room. I'm sure the technical crews will have a long list of equipment they need. I'll take Sub-Lieutenant Salazar down to the hangar.”

 Glaring at him, Tarak said, “Is this wise? Giving them free run of the base, showing them where the shuttles are so they can escape.”

 Taking a step forward, Salazar replied, “I have given my word as an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet that I will remain on this base until the peace negotiations have been concluded. Your leaders have decided that they want a hostage, and I respect that.” Folding his arms, he added, “If you would rather we remained here in this room, that's fair enough.”

 “No,” Valya replied, looking sharply at Tarak. “I think we should show some trust. You aren't the enemy, after all.”

 “Very well,” Tarak said with a sigh. “Come along, Lieutenant. You can come and see just how primitive our equipment is.”

 As the two of them walked away, Valya guided Salazar down another corridor, long and twisted, the walls originally rock that had long-ago been fused to make it airtight. He followed her down, stopping as his eyes caught something green, the beginnings of a mural that someone had painted on the wall, a sunrise over a lush landscape, trees reaching for the sky with a blue stream winding around. 

 “My father began that,” she said. “Thirty-five years ago. There are always a few resources for decorations. Most of our cabins are filled with them.” She sighed, then added, “Some reminders of our long-lost home.”

 Frowning, Salazar asked, “The planet is less than a day away at top speed.”

 “We have no ships capable of bringing us back down. All of the ships we have were designed only to operate in space.” Pausing for a second, she said, “There are some of us who would gladly return to the surface, though I don't know what we would do if we got there. It's been centuries since we touched bare soil, breathed real air. Have you ever walked on the surface of a planet, a real planet?”

 Nodding, he said, “Twice. Thule, one jump away, which is a bare, rocky desert compared to Arcadia, and Ragnarok, a snowball world. They're trying to terraform that one, but it's going to take centuries before the world is really livable.”

 “But you can breathe the air, drink the water?”

 “Yes. Our best guess is that some long-forgotten empire terraformed several worlds in this region to suit mankind, though we don't know why. One of the questions we're hoping to uncover on our current expedition. Arcadia must have been one of the worlds they chose to seed.”

 “And they transplanted our people here, at the same time. There are legends, some of our earliest stories, talking about how we walked among the stars, were brought across infinite space by the Gods, beings who gave us our world, made it rich and fertile, and bade us to take care of what they had given us, and follow them into the universe.” Shaking her head, she said, “And look what we did with the bounty they gave us. A world in ruins, a people on the brink of death. When we first reached up for the stars, we had such hopes, such dreams. The books of those days talk of expeditions to other planets, other systems.”

 “It could still happen,” Salazar said, placing his hand on her shoulder as her face fell to look at the deck. “You're alive, and you've held on this long. If you can come to some sort of agreement with the Council, you can rebuild your world, your civilization, and push on. It's all still out there, waiting.”

 “No, it isn't,” she said, with a sigh. “I'm a realist, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Call me Pavel.”

 With a smile, she asked, “Why? Oh, I forgot. Your people have two names, not three. Pavel, you're here already. When the UN arrived, many of us thought that we had lost our chance, but now we know for sure. Your ship, a century ahead of anything we could dream of, is going to explore this whole region. If there are uninhabited systems worth settling, you'll colonize them. Set up bases to extract resources.” Shaking her head, she added, “Probably even here. And we become a backwater, now and forever. Assuming, of course, that we survive at all.”

 He couldn't think of anything to say. She was right, probably. When Alamo returned from its mission, the knowledge it would bring back would lead to follow-up expeditions, new trading routes, settlements, resources to exploit, perhaps new worlds to contact or colonize. Arcadia looked beautiful from orbit, a jewel in the darkness, and it would be too tempting to be passed up for long.

 “Come on,” he said. “Show me the rest of it.”

 “Yes,” she replied. “Nodding. To hell with the shuttles. You've seen them too well already, and all of them are essentially the same.”

 “How did you come by sailships, anyway?” he asked, desperately trying to change the subject. “Aside from a few experimental models, we've never used them back at Sol. Engine technology just advanced too quickly, left them behind.”

 “After the Cataclysm, we needed to keep things as simple as we could. We were left with one major resource at our disposal, the reason that our nation settled the outer moons in the first place, and sailships were the best way to exploit it.”

 She stepped up to a door, entering a ten-digit sequence into the panel beside it. It failed on the first try, and again on the second, but her persistence was finally rewarded as the door burst open. Inside was a huge room, a long, familiar-looking cylinder at its heart, and as Salazar stepped in, he looked up and down the mile-long shaft, at the perfectly-serviced and maintained equipment within.

 “Our laser,” she said. “Built almost five hundred years ago as a missile defense network. It failed in that purpose, but since then it has pushed our ships among the stars, as well as providing our only means of protection against the attacks of the Council. There were twelve originally, all positioned to provide complete coverage of Arcadian orbit, but over the years they've failed one after another, parts transferred to keep at least some of the network going.”

 “This is astonishing,” Salazar said in reverent awe. “I've never seen anything like it. It's larger than the biggest installations we've got, and to keep it going for five hundred years is a fantastic achievement. One that you should be truly proud of.”

 Smiling, she replied, “It's taken the bulk of our efforts these last few years, and getting harder and harder to keep them operating. Our ancestors built to last, fortunately, but even their handiwork cannot keep going forever. Within a few decades, the last of the lasers will fail, and we'll be reduced to sailing on the solar winds. Our ships will still work, but far less well, and our trading network will fail.” Looking at Salazar, she said, “Captain Orlova's message wasn't news to us. We trust our people to behave sensibly, even in the face of oblivion.”

 “And still you go on?”

 “I suppose we were hoping for a miracle. For a time, when Wayfarer first arrived, we thought we might have found one, but it all came tumbling down. The Council had to smash our hopes, our dreams.” Clutching at his arm, she said, “We're not the bad guys, Pavel. We do what we must to survive, but would you do any less in the same circumstances?”

 Looking out at the laser cannon again, running his eye over the smooth lines and intricate machinery, he marveled at the idea of keeping this equipment going for a period twice as long as Earth had been in space at all. When this was built, his ancestors were riding horses, crewing sailing ships.

 “Probably not,” he replied. “I understand, at least to a degree.”

 “All of this has been my job,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Chief Laser Technician. For the last ten years, believe it or not. The first one in my family to get that far. That's why I went out on the sailship. I knew that we were retrieving technicians, engineers, and I hoped that we'd find someone who could help. You know about weapons, don't you?”

 “Just the Academy course. My specialty is in the firing of guns, not maintaining them.”

 “It's a skilled art.” She paused, and said, “I'd give it up tomorrow if that was what it took. If we could find some other path to the future.” Looking down, she added, “As it is, we're starting to reduce our population, going to a one-child birth-rate. There doesn't seem much point having children who won't get the chance to grow up. I know that the Council are pushing their population to the limit, but they've always been fools. When I think what they inherited.”

 “Couldn't you have worked together then?”

 Stepping over to the far side of the control room, she said, “Maybe we tried, I don't know. Not many of the records survived from that period. Everyone was too busy just staying alive to keep the paperwork trails going properly. And they did a good job. We're still here.” Tapping the wall, she said, “None of our bases were fully self-sufficient. We had some hydroponics, some carniculture, but we couldn't even produce our own medicines. People went down into the hell we'd made of our world in the last few landing craft to bring back what we needed, volunteers who knew that they were committing suicide but thought it was worth the risk in exchange for the survival of their people. I'm not sure whether they were right or not.” Looking up at Salazar, she said, “Pavel, level with me. Is there a chance?”

 “That depends on your leaders.”

 “I think I speak for my people when I say we'll be reasonable.”

 “Even if you have to submit to the will of the Council”. 

 Shaking her head, she said, “No better than death. Most of their population live like animals. They don't have any answers that lead to the future. If they'd wanted, they could have settled other planets, moved back to Arcadia, but they've walled themselves up in their own tomb instead.”

 “You're going to have to work with them.”

 “Why can't they work for us, rather than the other way around? Almost everything that they have now, they took from us. That base on Itix, we built that, set it up, labored on it for decades to get it to full production. Once it was finished, they stole it, claiming that we had stolen their moon.” Shaking her head, she said, “Had we kept it, it would have allowed us to increase our living capacity, expand the population, settle more moons. Instead we stagnate.”

 Pausing, Salazar asked, “What would you do, if you had the choice?”

 “Fly out of the system with you and never look back. If you're talking about my people, we need to settle Arcadia. If we had the ships to do it, and could trust that the Council wouldn't send their troops down to smash our bases when we reached the ground, we'd already have colonized the planet. I don't think we can maintain a space-based presence, not any more.” With a sigh, she said, “Though I suspect we'd all die down there. We've never grown crops, hunted game. I don't even know how to light a fire.”

 “Maybe we could help with that.”

 “Odd set of skills for a starship crew.”

 He smiled, then said, “You'd be surprised what sort of training manuals we have on board, especially now that we're visiting habitable planets. I'm sure we could come up with something for you.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Maybe there's another way. If we combine our resources with the Council, convince them to disband their fleet, we could work together to expand our range, build new outposts, properly repair the ones we have. Especially with your help.” She stopped, shook her head, and said, “Damn it all, I'm starting to hope again. That's a bad habit to get into, but I'm so used to everything automatically getting worse, day by day...” With a sigh, she said, “We'd better get you back to your quarters. Someone's bound to complain if they find out I've taken you here.”

 The two of them walked back down the quiet corridor, Salazar again looking at the mural as they passed it, pausing to examine the detail once again.

 “Why didn't he finish it?” he asked.

 Valya shook her head, and said, “He died before he could. Radiation exposure's higher out here, not enough shielding. I'm not that far off our average life expectancy myself.” Looking across at Salazar, she said, “It's a savage life we live out here, but at least we get to live it. Get to enjoy the fruits of our labor.” As they reached his quarters, she added, “I've got to get back to duty now. That cannon of mine is a harsh taskmaster, and we're expecting some components from Oron in a few hours. Maybe we could meet up for breakfast tomorrow.”

 “I'd like that,” he said. “Hopefully by then we'll have some good news from Alamo.”

 “There's that word again,” she said, as the door closed behind him. He stepped over to the bunk, lying down on it, fishing out his datapad. A transcript of their conversation was already on its way back to the ship, but he wanted to go over it again, strangely feeling like a traitor for having recorded it without her permission.

 The door opened, and Harper burst in, a smile on her face. She waited for the door to close, then started to look around the room, pulling out her bunk, then her table, before finally looking up at a spot on the ceiling. Reaching up with her hand, she felt around the stone before her fingers found a thin panel. Tugging it open, a microphone came dangling down, attached by two wires, and she pulled it loose.

 “There. No-one can hear us now. Tarak filled me in on the listening device. I've got news.”

 “So do I, but you go first.”

 “He's ready to make a break for it. There are two other agents in the engineering section, and one of them has access to a sailship. We can launch and hook up with a gunboat in nine hours if we want.” Raising a hand, she said, “I know, I know, the peace conference, but it would give Captain Orlova more freedom of action if we weren't confined. What do you think?” 

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I think we're doing more good here than we would on the ship. We ought to preserve it as an option, yes, but I don't want to use it. Not yet. Did you learn anything on the lower decks?”

 Waving a printout, she said, “Long want list, most of which I think we could fill, one way or another. Even if we can't, I'm sure Quinn could do something about it.” Frowning, she replied, “We can't trade for our release.”

 “No, I know, but if they need the components, perhaps we ought to provide them. They're dying, Kristen, and they know it. Maybe we can stop that from happening, do a little good out here.”

 Perching on her bunk, she replied, “I'm going to keep working with Tarak. He's been deep-cover as a double-agent for a few years now, and he's got access to a lot of useful information.”

 “He'll have his own agenda, remember. Or worse, that of the Council.”

 “I know that, but the raw data can still be useful. I've got ways of making sure that it is accurate.” She paused, then said, “Are you sure you aren't the one getting too attached?”

 “It's hard to avoid.” He looked around the room, and said, “I want to help these people. I want that very badly. They've been through so much already, and we've got the opportunity to put all that right.”

 “They've got to help themselves first, remember. And so do we.”

 “I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know.”

Chapter 14

 Orlova stood to attention as the Council shuttle rose through the decks, Sergeant Gurung leading a squad of Espatiers in an honor guard, wearing their seldom-used dress uniform. Next to her, Nelyubov twitched, trying to inconspicuously stretch an itch, earning him a brief glare.

 “Why do we need to wear these damn things?” he muttered. “They won't know the difference.”

 “I will. And we need to show them some respect. If we can smooth their egos a little, it might make things easier at the conference table.”

 “The Coalition group didn't care.”

 “Quiet,” she hissed, and the hatch opened, a trio of people stepping out onto the deck looking around. Kelgar led the way, as expected, with Yorax and Trant flanking him. Stepping forward, Orlova snapped into a salute, and a hastily-researched recording of the Council's anthem blared over the ceiling speakers.

 “Welcome to the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo,” she said, holding out her hand. “It's a pleasure to have you here, especially under such circumstances.”

 Frowning, Kelgar ignored her hand, replying, “We are here at your insistence, Captain, and for no other reason than that. I think it would be best to get on with this.” Gesturing to his right, he said, “Raval will join us at the second session tomorrow. He had urgent business to take care of first, and Trant was appointed in his place.”

 “An honor, ma'am,” Trant said, snapping a salute. “Speaking for myself, it's a great pleasure to see this ship for myself. From what I can see, everything Ensign Cooper told me was true.”

 “We'll try and arrange a tour for you both later,” Orlova said. “We have VIP quarters prepared for all of you, if you want to freshen up.”

 Shaking his head, Kelgar said, “They can wait until later. If we must proceed with this farce, let's get it over with as quickly as we can. I understand that the Coalition delegates have already arrived?”

 “A couple of hours ago,” Nelyubov said. “Like yourselves, they are eager to meet, and hope to reach an agreement that can resolve your differences.”

 “And you are?”

 “Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, Alamo's Executive Officer.” 

 “You presume much, Senior Lieutenant. I do not believe that any agreement is possible with our ancient enemies. This is not the first time that we have attempted to talk terms, and they have always been unreasonable in the extreme. Certainly we will make the attempt, but I have every expectation that these talks will fail.” Looking at Orlova, he added, “It isn't too late for you to see sense. Our gunboats are in position...”

 “Don't be absurd, Kelgar,” Yorax said. “We're here on a peace conference, not to launch a surprise attack. Besides, their laser is focused on this area and ready to fire. My gunboats wouldn't stand a chance, and even this ship would be at hazard.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “I presume that you will stand ready to defend us?”

 “This ship is neutral territory,” Orlova replied. “Any attempt to attack this ship or the base below us from either side will be met with deadly force, I assure you. Alamo isn't here to start a fight, but if needed, we will finish one.” Turning to Gurung, she said, “Sergeant Gurung will show you to the conference room. The session will begin in ten minutes.”

 “Very well,” Kelgar said.

 “This way, please,” the Espatier said, somehow managing to insert an air of menace into his welcoming smile. The Council delegation stepped towards the elevator, the two soldiers looking around, their eyes absorbing every detail they could find, a mixture of envy and awe on their faces, while Kelgar simply looked forward, as though attempting to imagine himself somewhere else through sheer force of will.

 Nelyubov looked at Orlova, and said, “I don't envy you the next few days.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “He'll talk peace in the end. They don't have a choice, long-term. Either they come up with some sort of understanding, or they're going to be wiped out, and within the lifetime of most of the people in this system. He must know that they have to come to terms. All I have to do is make him accept it.” She paused, then said, “I've got Powell for company, anyway.”

 “And a low-profile Espatier squad on stand-by.” He passed across his datapad, and added, “We're set for a nice little confrontation if they decide to push for it. Four gunboats and five sailships, all in the same orbit, watching each other with Alamo in the middle. I've got the ship on a standing alert, and there's a salvo of missiles ready to go at a moment's notice. Corporal Stewart's squad is on Shuttle Three, and can be in the air in two minutes.”

 “I think that just about covers it. Mind the shop, Frank, and if you get any messages from either Cooper or Salazar, let me know at once. If anyone out there twitches, go to battle stations, but don't fire unless I give you the word.”

 “Maybe it'll shock them into submission if I do,” he replied. “Or perhaps I'm hoping for rather too much. Good luck, anyway. I think you're going to need it.” His datapad bleeped, and he said, “Smith's bringing the Coalition delegation to the conference room now.”

 “Right. I'd better be on my way.” She looked at the exit, and asked, “Remind me. Whose stupid idea was this?”

 “Some idiot called Orlova.”

 “Put her on report.” She stepped into the elevator, the system automatically taking her to her destination. Pulling out her datapad, she skimmed over Powell's hastily prepared list of recommendations, measures that might save technological civilization in this system. Both delegations had received copies, but whether or not they had read them was another matter.

 Normally, she'd be urging the elevator on, but this time she was mentally trying to slow it. She was stepping into uncharted territory, and she knew it. Without Senate approval, she couldn't offer more than mild support from the Confederation. If they were closer to the Core, or Alamo was able to head right back to Thule, she'd have been tempted to just throw Protectorate status at them, see what that brought about, but the Technocrats would be unlikely to ratify it. Assuming the Senate ever broke its deadlock for long enough to make any decision at all.

 Theoretically, none of this was necessary. The Confederation didn't have a dog in this fight, and she could just bring Salazar, Harper, Cooper and the Espatiers back to the ship and continue on their way in three days' time. There were other routes into unexplored space, other avenues of expansion. Shaking her head, she dismissed the possibility. One way or another, this had to be resolved. Tens of thousands of lives depended on it.

 The doors opened, and she stepped out into the hastily adapted observation room, a round table with a dozen chairs filling the room, a holoprojector placed at its heart. Yorax, Trant and Kelgar were already in their places, and even the hard-faced Administrator was unashamedly enjoying the spectacular view, Arcadia rising in the distance with a bright starfield behind. Powell, sitting next to her empty seat, smiled, and she made mental note to personally thank the sensor technician who had put that display together.

 She moved around to take her seat, and the elevator door opened once again, Sub-Lieutenant Scott, her assistant, leading the two-person Coalition delegation into the room. They glared at the Council, then nodded at Orlova before taking their seats. Placing her datapad on the table in front of her, she looked from one delegation to the other, cleared her throat with a quick cough, and began.

 “For the record, I recognize Poltis, Coordinator of the Coalition, Vyram, Squadron Leader of the Coalition Fleet, Kelgar, Administrator of Skybase, Yorax, Director of Combat Operations for the Council, and Trant, Deputy Director. I am Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, of the Triplanetary Fleet, and assisting today are Senior Lieutenant John Powell and Sub-Lieutenant Katherine Scott.”

 “Now that you've got that mouthful out of the way,” Yorax said, “Can we start?”

 She fought to suppress a smile, and continued, “The matter on the table is quite simple, gentlemen. There must be peace in this system, and both factions must work together, or everyone on Skybase and the outer colonies will die in a matter of decades. Lieutenant Powell has a more detailed analysis.”

 Nodding, Powell said, “Given the data we have acquired from both factions...”

 “Where did you get the information on Skybase?” Kelgar asked. “I question whether or not it is accurate.”

 “I gave it to them,” Yorax replied. “Trust me, everything is correct.”

 Looking sharply at the veteran officer, Kelgar snapped, “That is a violation of...”

 “Gentlemen,” Orlova said, “I think those questions can wait until later, can they not? We need to focus on the major issues. Trust that the information is accurate for the present, and you can examine the methodology in more detail during our first recess.”

 “I am willing to proceed along these lines,” Poltis said, Vyram nodding in agreement. “I doubt very much whether the final result of the analysis will be in dispute in any case. Our people have made no secret of the desperate situation we face.”

 “What are you implying?” Kelgar asked.

 “Gentlemen!” Orlova said, hammering her gavel on the desk. “Please, permit Lieutenant Powell to provide his briefing.”

 “Thank you, ma'am,” Powell said. “To summarize, both factions lack the resources for long-term survival. Essentially, without an enhanced manufacturing base and secure access to raw materials, you will increasingly be unable to keep up your maintenance schedules, and more and more critical systems will fail.” He paused, and said, “Further, all of your colonies and outposts are well past their design lifespans, and your populations should be moved to new installations as soon as possible.”

 “Are you planning to gift us these bases?” Trant asked.

 “Every time we have attempted to build a new colony site, the Council has either stolen or attacked it. The base on Itix was one of ours,” Vyram said, “built with the sweat of our labor, and the imperialists stole it from us before we could use it. We would have shared, but they had to have it all.”

 “Our population is far larger than yours,” Kelgar countered. “And you built your base on our soil, territory claimed by our people for hundreds of years. You had no right to construct your outpost in the first place, and we had every right to seize an illegal installation in our territory.”

 Nodding, Powell said, “Precisely the problem, gentlemen. I have prepared a plan that might allow for your survival as a spacefaring power, though I must confess that it is a risky one.” Looking down at his datapad, he began, “First, you must construct a larger installation on Arcadia, and begin to transfer your people to the planet.”

 “No!” Kelgar said, slamming his fist. “You condemn us to life in the mud, while the Coalition keeps orbital space for itself. Our forefathers fought and died to protect our stations and installations...”

 “And smashed our world to bits in the process,” Trant said.

 “I would advocate a shared colony,” Powell said. “Both sides could contribute skilled workers. Naturally, this would have to be open-air, making use of local water and oxygen, as well as providing your agricultural base. This could...”

 Shaking his head, Yorax said, “Our people could never live in such an environment. They are too used to an artificial world, and I fear they would find it impossible to make the adjustment. What about an alternate plan.” He looked at Kelgar, and said, “As you said, Skybase is becoming impossible to maintain, and we are finding it increasingly difficult to organize resupply. Perhaps a better approach would be to construct one colony, on another of our moons, perhaps even on Itix beneath us, and share it. Pool our resources on a new base, a new home for our people.”

 “Under Council control,” Kelgar added.

 “We could never agree to that,” Poltis replied. “Nor should we.”

 “The Council would be providing the bulk of the population and resources involved. Skybase would have to be gutted for many of the component parts,” Kelgar said. “It seems only reasonable that we should be responsible for the political direction of the new colony.”

 Trant frowned, and added, “Perhaps we could agree to add a representative from the Coalition to the Council? Poltis himself, maybe.”

 Kelgar looked at the young officer for a moment, then reluctantly nodded, replying, “I think I could find myself in agreement with that proposal. Expanding the Council to six members definitely has possibilities.” 

 Shaking his head, Poltis replied, “And whenever I spoke, everything I said would be shouted down, and I would find myself outvoted at every turn. We would accept equal representation, five and five.”

 “The Council would be far too unwieldy,” Kelgar replied. “Ten people is far too large.” He leaned forward, and said, “There is one truth here. Our people must be united, but if you will not accept the decision of the majority...”

 “There's an idea!” Vyram roared. “Let's have a free and fair election, vote for a leader. We'd abide by the results of such a vote if it was conducted in an open manner.”

 “Impossible!” Kelgar said. “That would require...”

 Slamming her gavel again, Orlova said, “Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere.”

 “Exactly,” Poltis replied. “Captain, we're attempting to be reasonable, but I cannot permit my people to be sold into slavery. You've seen the conditions they keep their people in on Skybase. I won't let my people fall to that level. In all truth, they'd sooner die.” He paused, then said, “There must still be room for compromise here today.”

 “Certainly,” Yorax said. “Two colonies, not one, but built next to each other, sharing resources where needed. A joint committee for each one, equal members from each nation.”

 “Nothing would ever be decided,” Poltis said. “And you would still outnumber us. Your soldiers could walk into our outpost at any time and end the co-operation.” He shook his head, and said, “I fear we have reached the same, all too familiar impasse.”

 “Not yet,” Orlova said. “There are other options. If you were to move to the surface, there would be room for as many outposts and settlements as you wish, spread out across a wide area. Indeed, it would make more sense to disperse your population, rather than concentrating.”

 “As I have said...”

 “My people would be willing to move to the surface,” Poltis said. “Though it would have to be on the understanding that the Council's people move as well. Giving them space superiority is not something I will concede.” Staring at Kelgar, he continued, “I can already see his mind working now, puzzling out how to give himself the greatest advantage. My people deserve better than such a fate.”

 “This isn't a question of advantage, but mutual survival,” Powell said. “I would point out that simply constructing a settlement large enough to house your joint population will take at least two years, and will require a coordinated effort from both your people. Perhaps we can table a discussion of political control for the moment, and move to more practical considerations.”

 “We are being asked to decide on the construction of an outpost when we will have no say in its government?” Kelgar asked.

 Looking at the politician, Orlova replied, “This is merely the first of several sessions, Administrator. We don't have to solve all of the problems today. Indeed, we might not settle them all at this conference, but the important thing is that you start working together for the common good.”

 “We're more than happy to do that,” Kelgar replied. “The greatest good of the greatest number.”

 “Which means my people are thrown out of the airlock,” Vyram replied.

 Turning to his counterpart, Yorax said, “Your ships have been the aggressors of late, launching unprovoked attacks against our shipping.”

 “We needed those supplies, supplies obtained from installations that you stole, to feed our people! What choice do we have?”

 “As a show of good faith, would you consider destroying your lasers in exchange for our demobilization of our gunboat fleet?”

 The Coalition delegation erupted in a torrent of rage, Vyram shouting, “Our entire economy is dependent on those lasers! You could rearm in weeks. We didn't come here to be stripped of our only hope of survival.”

 “Why did you come here, then?” Kelgar said. “It seems a reasonable proposal to me. If you cannot concede on any point on the agenda, I cannot see that we have anything further to discuss.”

 Orlova slammed her gavel on the table, and said, “I think everyone's emotions are getting heated. I'm calling a half-hour recess. I suggest you take another look at Lieutenant Powell's proposals, and perhaps we can return to this discussion in a calmer state of mind later.”

 “I doubt it,” Kelgar said, rising to his feet and stalking out of the room, the other delegates on his tail, unwilling even to share an elevator. After the last one had gone, Orlova rose to her feet, rubbing her hand against her head.

 “I'll be back up in a few minutes. See if you can untangle something from that mess of invective, somewhere we might find an agreement. I'm going down to Sickbay to see if Doctor Duquesne has something for a headache. Or a stiff drink.”

Chapter 15

 The buggy trawled laboriously across the landscape, tires digging deep into the ground, leaving a trail of mud in its wake. Cooper glanced back towards the base, now dipping beneath the horizon, looking for signs of pursuit. As far as he could tell, they'd made a clean getaway, but that just made him nervous. He reached down to his communicator to call Danus, then shook his head. It was only ten minutes since his last check-in. No need to disturb him again.

 He looked around at the magnificent view, attempting to distract himself, and it was all too easy to get lost in the lush green fields, rolling hills and bushy trees they were driving through. They were closing on the edge of a forest, following the well-worn track, with a trickling stream a few hundred meters to the right. As he glanced, he saw something leaping out of it, and smiled as he realized it was a shoal of fish.

 “If the Arcadians don't want this planet, I'll have it,” he said. “I've never seen anything like it. It's like Earth must have looked, before the Third World War.”

 “Imagine the sort of hell it was a few centuries ago,” Cantrell replied. “This whole world would have been a battleground, bad enough that the survivors had to retreat to orbit.” She brought the buggy to a halt just short of the trees, and added, “I think we walk from here.”

 “How far back to the base?”

 “Thirty miles, I think. A good, long hike, if needed.” She reached up, tugging out a circuit and stuffing it in her pocket. “I wouldn't worry. No-one's taking this thing anywhere unless I want it to.” Waving at the hanging spacesuits, she said, “I presume we aren't bothering with them?”

 “I can't see any reason why we should,” he replied, cracking the door, setting off a whining alarm as the air pressure changed. He stepped out onto the ground, his feet sinking an inch into the mud, and quickly moved to the grass, shaking the dirt free in thick clumps. Cantrell jumped from her side of the car, missing the mud entirely.

 Cooper turned to the forest, pausing for a second, and said, “I don't see a trail.”

 “The ground's wet,” Cantrell replied. “The rain probably washed it away.” She smiled, then said, “Good God, we really are out of our element, aren't we. If this was a space station, we'd be able to follow traces and tracks in an instant. Haven't you done any training for this?”

 “Oddly enough, no,” he replied. “I guess we just go in and see what we can find.”

 “And if someone finds us?”

 “I hope they do. Look, if there are people in there, they know a hell of a lot more about their environment than we do. We'd never be able to find them, not in a million years, not without equipment we don't have. All we can hope is that they manage to find us.” Stepping forward, he said, “So let's get moving, and don't worry about not making noise.”

 The two of them walked into the forest, the spongy moss pushing back against their feet, as they scrambled over roots and rocks. The air was filled with the scent of a hundred different flowers, everywhere the sound of birds and scurrying animals all around. Cooper marveled at the sight, drinking in the environment.

 Still, he could understand how the inhabitants of the base felt. This was his third time on an open planetary surface, and it still felt a little strange to be walking around without a suit, or even a respirator. He knew that the air wasn't going to run out, that the pressure was fine, the temperature safe, but a little warning bell was still ringing in his mind, and he was only second-generation spaceborn. Oddly, bleak Ragnarok and desolate Thule had seemed far more normal, perhaps because the landscape was like the Mars of his youth, albeit with air to breathe and water to drink. This world was teeming with life, rich and verdant, more lush than any nature dome he'd ever seen.

 “Look,” Cantrell said, kneeling on the ground. “There are people here.” She reached down and picked up a pointed piece of metal, a smooth, broken stick lying next to it. “An arrowhead.”

 “That's steel,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “Look at the writing on it.”

 “Some sort of offering, a message to their Gods?”

 “Or a coin that they've filed down to a point.”

 “You've got no soul, Gabe.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “There are probably ruins everywhere around here, buried under the ground. It might be worth sending in an archaeological team at some point.”

 Leaving the broken arrow on the ground, they continued on, following the stream as it wound its way through the woods. More signs of habitation were evident, another arrow, also broken, the remains of a campfire, a hook left embedded in the soil, a piece of wire tangled next to it. Then Cantrell pointed to the north, at a thin column of smoke rising towards the sky.

 “Signs of life,” she said.

 “We move quietly,” Cooper replied, “and watch yourself.”

 “I thought you wanted them to find us.”

 “That doesn't mean I want to walk unprepared into an ambush. Let's take this slow. I have a bad feeling about this. Something isn't right.” He paused, then said, “If I had a settlement here, so close to the Council base, I'd have guards posted. Wouldn't you?”

 Wordlessly, he led the way into the undergrowth, watching where he placed his feet, looking around for any further signs of life. A strange smell of roasting meat was on the air, oddly repellent, coming from the direction of the smoke, but he couldn't hear any sounds, any sign of human activity at all. He didn't quite know what he was expecting, but total silence wasn't it.

 For almost an hour they inched their way through the forest, Cooper expecting at any moment for someone to leap out at him, pistol, spear or nerve gun in hand, demanding to know why they were trespassing. There were plenty of signs that humans had been here littering the forest floor, more as they grew closer to the fire.

 He realized belatedly that the ground was smooth underfoot, and he knelt to see a gray trail winding through the forest floor, maybe the remains of a long-forgotten road that passed this way, the stone now cracked and broken. Strange as it was to think, they might be walking through the remnants of a city from before the Cataclysm, a place were thousands, millions of people once lived. Now it had returned to the wilderness from whence it came.

 The stink grew worse as they approached, and he could hear the crackling of the fires through the trees, the bird song oddly quiet. Cantrell stepped up to his side, pistol in hand, and glanced at him. There was no need for words. She felt it too. A sense of dread and foreboding that made him want to race for the buggy, head back to the base and pretend they had never made it out here. Nevertheless, duty pushed him onwards, to the edge of the crater.

 Cantrell beat him there by a second, then turned to the side and started to throw up into a bush. It took every ounce of self-control that Cooper possessed to stop him joining her. He looked out onto what had once been a settlement, now a burned and blackened ruin. Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of battle, burned-out buildings, wagons, corpses. Some of them had been dumped onto  a fire at the heart of the village, their remains still smoldering on the embers.

 “What happened?” he said. “What happened here?”

 “Those bastards!” Cantrell said. “They did this!” She reached for her communicator, and Cooper turned to her.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Calling Alamo. I'm going to tell Captain Orlova what the Council is doing down here. They've got to pay for what they have done.” Forcing herself to look up, she said, “Damn it, Gabe, there are children in that inferno!” 

 Grabbing her by the arms, he said, “We can't bring back the dead, and we don't have the first idea what happened here, or who was responsible. You don't know that they did this, not yet. I'm as sickened by this as you are, but we've got to find out what happened, and we have to make a full recording of it. When they come to trial, and I assure you that whoever did this will pay for what they have done, I want the whole system to know why.

 She looked up at him, wide-eyed, nodded, and replied, “You're right. Of course.”

 “We can't call Alamo until we have a full report. They'll know we're here, and they'll know we're signaling orbit. One thing we can do, though.” He pulled out his own communicator, and said, “Cooper to Hunt.”

 “Hunt here. Go ahead.”

 “Secure the base. Quickly, and quietly. Make sure that no communications are sent to orbit, and make sure that the ship has no opportunity to take off. All base personnel are to be placed in solitary confinement, subject to questioning by higher authority at a later date. These orders are to be followed without question, and at once. Do you understand?”

 “Yes, sir. We'll get it done.”

 “Let me know when you've finished. And make sure the other buggies are captured intact. We're going to need them in a few hours.”

 Cantrell had her datapad out, running the camera around the scene, trying to record every gruesome detail, every moment of horror. This had been a temporary camp, the remains of tents around a central fire, dead horses dumped on the far side of the clearing. The paving was much closer to the surface here, a smooth place to rest, and along with the crackling of the fire all Cooper could hear was the rushing noise of the nearby stream.

 “There's your proof,” she said. “These fires were started chemically. I'm picking up the residue in the smoke. No way anyone down here other than the Council could have that sort of equipment.” Spitting on the ground, she said, “They must have used incendiaries to torch the buildings, then picked off the rest with snipers.”

 Nodding, Cooper knelt down behind one of the bodies, a boy who couldn't have been more than twelve, with a spear in his hand and a bullet hole neatly drilled through his forehead. He looked at the crumpled figure, then up at Cantrell, savage hate burning in his eyes, hotter than the fire.

 “We're going to have a problem if you do this the legal way, Gabe,” Cantrell said, trying to compose herself. “If the Council did this, they're hardly going to arrest themselves.”

 “They will,” he said. “One way or another, there will be a trial, and someone will pay for this.” Looking at the devastation again, he asked, “Why, though? I don't understand. There are no special resources here, and they're a good distance from the base, so I can't see them having any effect on the mining. There must have been something they wanted, something they needed.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “They made a good job of covering up the evidence. Maybe if we got a full forensic team down here, we might be able to find out something.” She paused, then said, “I'm not sure even Alamo's equipped for that sort of investigation, though.”

 “No wonder Naxos didn't want us to see any of this,” Cooper said. “If that little worm knows anything, we'll find out soon enough.”

 On instinct, he dived to the ground, just as a spear curved through the air towards him. He turned to see a slight figure trying to run away, and started to sprint after her, Cantrell pulling out her pistol as she followed him. While the native knew the terrain far better, Cooper easily caught her up in a handful of strides, panic on her face as she looked up at him, then at the pistol in Cantrell's hand. She turned to try and get away, catching her foot on a root that threw her to the ground, screaming in pain and fear.

 “Don't worry,” Cooper said, “We're not going to hurt you.”

 “Come on, Gabe,” Cantrell replied. “She isn't going to speak English.”

 The woman, barely more than a girl, looked up and said, “I speak, little. Grandfather came from the stars, from the ground.”

 “From Earth,” Cooper said. “Your grandfather came from Earth.”

 Nodding, the girl replied, “You kill quick. No pain.”

 “I not kill at all,” he said, and Cantrell holstered her pistol, kneeling by her side.

 “Don't worry, dear. We're here to help.” Gesturing back at the camp, she asked, “What happened here? Who did this?”

 “Men. From Dome. Land in chariot of fire, flame across the ground, with guns that cause pain, others that kill. Like yours. I was hunting, got away, hid in cave.” She paused, then asked, “Why?”

 “I wish I knew,” Cooper asked. “Did you see anything?”

 “After they take women, they killed the rest. All dead. All my people.”

 “The women? They took the women?”

 Nodding, she replied, “They shoot, then take to chariot. Then the others killed the rest, laughing and shouting.” Looking down at the ground, she continued, “I hid. They no find. Maybe they no care.”

 Cantrell pulled out her medical kit, and said, “Let me look at that arm. I think you cut it when you fell.”

 “No!” she said, recoiling from the box. “Evil sign, will kill!”

 “The Red Cross?” Cantrell asked.

 Nodding, Cooper said, “The medical facility on the dome. Far too large for the base complement under normal circumstances. And the genetic problem on Skybase, the need for an expanded genetic pool.” Looking back at the settlement, he said, “They're harvesting genetic material. Using it to try and keep their population going. Breeding stock.”

 “You no hurt?” the girl asked, still looking at the medical kit.

 “No,” he said. “My name's Gabriel. This is Lisa. What's yours?”

 “Reana,” she replied, tears beginning to stream down dirty, mud-splattered cheeks. “Daughter of Elona. They took her, took her away.”

 Frowning, Cantrell said, “We didn't pick up any ships leaving the planet, and this must have happened while we were in transit.” Shaking her head, she said, “No wonder they were in such a hurry to get the transport down, and they were so reluctant to have Alamo on site. They hoped to get this past us.”

 “Meaning that their captives must still be on the planet, somewhere on the base.” Pulling out his communicator, he said, “Cooper to Hunt, come in, urgent.”

 “Sir?” Hunt replied. “I was just about to contact you. We've secured the entire base, aside from the medical bay. Some of them got away and holed up in there, and they have the doors blockaded, independent air supply set up. They're claiming to have hostages, but won't give any details.”

 “Damn,” he said.

 “Something else, sir. They must have done something to the communications system, on the ship and on the base. I can't get through to Alamo. The relay isn't working.”

 Cooper sighed, then said, “Keep a guard, Corporal. We're on our way back right now. Cooper out.” Looking at Reana, he said, “We've got to go. I think we have a chance of rescuing your mother and the others, but we've got to move quickly. Will you come with us?”

 Wide-eyed, she shook her head, and said, “You're going to take me away. Take me with them. Hurt, kill, like the others.”

 “We're not like the others,” Cantrell said. “We're going to stop them. Any way we can, but we might need your help if we're going to do it. You've got to be brave and strong, for their sake.”

 She looked up, frightened eyes going back and forth, and after a long pause, finally nodded, rising to her feet. Moving to the side, she reached into the undergrowth and pulled out another spear, a razor-sharp point at the end. Waving it towards Cooper, her eyes narrowed.

 “If this a trick, you die.”

 “It's no trick,” he said. “Come with me.”

 The trio made their way out of the forest, taking care to avoid the ruins of the settlement, following the thin trails back to the river. Walking by their side, the girl was quiet, her eyes darting about as if constantly expecting a trap. Cooper looked down at her, shaking his head. She'd already been through a kind of hell that he couldn't comprehend, and the only way he could protect her was to risk subjecting her to it again.

 After what seemed like an age, they broke through the tree line, the buggy a short walk over green grass to their right. Reana showed no reaction to the vehicle, still quietly following along, climbing after them into the cabin, taking a seat at the back. Cooper looked back, and she raised her spear, as though preparing to strike them if they did something she didn't like.

 “You can trust us,” he said. “We are here to help you. I promise.”

 “Gabe,” Cantrell said, pointing up at the sky. “We've got problems.” 

 He looked up, and saw a star in the heavens, one that wasn't there before. As he looked, he could see a faint plume from its rear, and heard the familiar roar through the open door. A shuttlecraft, on final approach to landing. Either the base had called for reinforcements, or they'd just been unlucky.

 “Get her moving,” he said. “Burn out the motor if you have to. We've got to beat that shuttle down.”

 “Best guess that we have about half an hour,” she said. “We might make it.”

 “I hope so,” Cooper said. “We're running out of time.”

Chapter 16

 There was a loud knock on the door of their guest quarters, and Salazar climbed out of his bunk, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tapping Harper on the shoulder, trying to wake her up.

 “What's going on?” the hacker asked, defiantly keeping her eyes tightly closed.

 “No idea,” he replied. “Someone wants us.” Moving to the door, he threw the bolt to allow it  to open. Out in the corridor, Tarak and Valya were standing, the latter amused at his disheveled appearance.

 Shaking his head, Tarak said, “You said that you wanted to look at the conditions of the involuntary workers. It took a little doing, but I managed to arrange a little tour for you.”

 Looking at Tarak, Valya added, “We're anxious to show you that they are treated well, humanely. Probably under better conditions than if they were still on Skybase, or one of those old freighters.” 

 With a sigh, Harper threw off the covers and stood up, reaching for her uniform jacket, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in her shirt.

 “Why do you keep it so cold in here?” she asked, shivering.

 “Heat is energy, and energy is life,” Tarak said. “I suggest you wear warm clothing, as we do. Your uniforms will be more than sufficient. Besides, the heat levels are kept at a safe level.”

 “Not a comfortable one, though,” Harper grumbled, shrugging on her jacket.

 “Any news from the negotiations?” Salazar asked.

 “I gather the second session didn't go much better than the first,” Valya replied. “The Council are still refusing to yield on anything. We're going back with some new proposals after lunch. Maybe they'll make some progress. We'll see.” Holding out her arm, she said, “Shall we?”

 They walked down the corridor, heading towards an accessway at the end, a ladder dropping down to a lower level. Tarak seemed to edge ahead of the group, as though reluctant to have anything to do with them, but Valya hung back.

 “You've got to believe that we all want the negotiations to succeed,” she said. “We know what is at stake.” She paused, then asked, “But if they fail, what happens next?”

 “That depends on how it fails, I guess,” Harper said. “We won't pick sides in a war.”

 Tarak led the way down the ladder, silently moving down two rungs at a time, no effort in the low gravity. At the bottom, a guard nodded, glancing at each of them as they walked past, handing sidearms to Tarak and Valya as they passed.

 “Just a precaution,” he said, holstering his weapon. “Sometimes the workers can get desperate. Stupid of them, really. They don't have anywhere better to go, anyway.”

 “Most of them work in Resource Extraction,” Valya said.

 “As I recall,” Salazar replied, “you threatened me with that when we first met.”

 Glancing at Tarak, she said, “It's a messy, nasty job. The recycling systems are as old as the rest of the station, and require essentially constant maintenance. I won't say that it's easy, or even risk-free, but it is vital to our survival, and doesn't require much of a skill base. Others work down in the power plant, or on the internal systems.”

 “You trust them, then?”

 “They're constantly supervised, but at the end of the cycle, what choice do they have?” Tarak said. “If they sabotaged any critical system, they'd die as quickly as everyone else. We can't afford to sustain a parasitic population here. Look at Skybase to see how that ends. At least we don't kill them. That's the Council's way.”

 “Why not hand them over?” Harper asked. “Send them back home?”

 Shaking her head, Valya said, “Think of it as a brain drain. Gradually, we're getting their best engineers, technicians, scientists, pilots over onto our side. We're fighting a war of attrition, and this is one of the fronts where we're having the most success. I don't think it's any secret that Skybase is crumbling for lack of skilled men to maintain it, and this is a big part of that.”

 “And if they want to go home?” Salazar asked.

 “You'd be surprised how few of them choose that option. Most of them end up electing to throw their lot in with us.” Valya paused, then said, “Six years ago, half a dozen of them managed to steal Sailship Nine, and linked up with a gunboat. I think that settled everything.”

 “What happened?”

 “All of them were executed as potential traitors when they got back to Skybase. They claimed that we had infiltrated agents into the escapees, that all of it was some sort of master plan. None of that was true. They were just worried that people would talk about what they saw here, and that others might start to make the comparison. From what I've seen, they've got good cause.”

 They reached the first door, and pushed it open to see Ortok lying on his bunk. He looked up, shaking his head as he saw Salazar and Harper, then turned to face the wall.

 “Go away. I don't want to speak to traitors.”

 “As you can see, the quarters are essentially the same as ours,” Tarak began. 

 “But with the lock on the wrong side of the door,” Ortok interrupted. “We will have our revenge. I'm not going to just submit to all of this. I'm getting back to Skybase, and I'll come back with a fleet of gunboats at my back.”

 Frowning, Salazar said, “Can he come with us?”

 “He's only just arrived,” Tarak said. “He's still being processed. Perhaps someone who has been here for somewhat longer might be a better choice.”

 “Are you worried about what I'll say?” Ortok said. “I've already done my first tour down there, and if that's the best you have to offer...”

 “He's a spaceship engineer, and you've got him in waste reclamation?” Harper asked.

 Frowning, Valya said, “That's not usual. Processing should have placed him in an area more appropriate to his skills. This isn't meant to be a punishment. He's just earning his keep.”

 Shaking his head, Tarak replied, “I don't trust him. And you're a fool if you do. Better that he stays down with the dung until he learns better.”

 Looking at the pilot, Valya said, “Ortok, you can come with us. If you want to.”

 “Whose side are you on?” Tarak asked.

 “I was going to ask you the same question,” she replied.

 The guard came down the corridor, pistol in hand, and said, “There's trouble on the upper levels. Something about the Triplanetary murderers.”

 “What sort of trouble?”

 “You'd better get them back to their quarters, where we can put them under guard.” 

 Salazar could hear noises coming down from the far end of the corridor, and saw a group of people dropping down to the lower levels, running towards them. Instead of moving to stop them, the guard stepped out of the way, moving back into an alcove, and with a grin on his face, Tarak moved to join him.

 “This way,” Valya said, running in the opposite direction. Salazar looked back at the pilot, who simply grinned at him again, while Harper shot back a look of sheer venom before following Valya. Ortok looked at the crowd and followed, and the four of them raced along the corridors, boots rattling against metal, trying to stay ahead of the group.

 “What the hell is going on?” Harper asked.

 “The guard, the one who died. Poltis decided to let it go as self-defense, announced the decision this morning. This is a small rock,” Valya said, turning around a corner, seemingly at random. “Everyone knows everyone else, and he was well-liked.”

 “And Tarak's happy to let us be torn to pieces by a lynch mob?”

 “We've got to get to the administration level. Contact Poltis and tell him what is going on.”

 “No,” Salazar said. “That's the last place we go. This didn't just spring out of nowhere. Someone's organized all of this, and I can guess who.” He glanced at Harper, and said, “Tarak is a double agent. He's working for the Council.”

 Nodding, Harper added, “He revealed himself to me yesterday. That was all, though. As far as we knew, he wasn't doing anything other than planning an escape route. He claimed his idea was that with us free, your government wouldn't have any leverage on Captain Orlova.”

 Coming to a halt, Valya asked, “And what did you do?”

 Looking at Salazar with a smile, Harper said, “I was all for it, but the wise man here decided that it wouldn't be in our best interests, so he talked me out of it.”

 “We made a commitment to stay, and I intended to follow that to the letter. Not that I expected we'd be torn limb from limb for our troubles.” He looked back, the noise of the crowd getting closer, and added, “If we were going to lie to you, we'd have come up with something that made us look a hell of a lot better than this. Can we get moving?”

 “Either that,” Ortok said, “Or we get ready for a last stand.”

 She nodded, and turned back to the corridor, taking a twisted path around a pile of broken equipment, stacked for later use. Onward they ran, keeping a good distance from the approaching rioters, Ortok at the rear, struggling to keep up with the others. Salazar dropped back, moving alongside.

 “You with us?” he said.

 “Yes,” Ortok replied, gasping for breath. “More exercise than I'm used to, is all. I figure that mob back there won't ask too many questions if they catch us.”

 “Through here,” Valya said, opening up a chute. “This will take us down into the lower crawlspaces. No-one knows about them. Just me.” Without waiting for the others, she dropped down the vertical tunnel, pushing herself down, faster than the minimal gravity alone would take her. Harper dived after her, trusting on instincts or luck, and when Ortok looked as though he was hesitant, Salazar pushed him in.

 The angry crowd bubbled around the corner at the far end of the corridor, armed with clubs, pieces of metal, anything they could find. The guard was corralling them at the rear, urging them on, and Tarak was at their head, pointing at Salazar, shouting something unintelligible that made the crowd behind him roar in satisfaction.

 Without any other choice, Salazar dived into the darkness, closing the hatch behind him, hearing the mechanism lock into place. There was no light, none at all, and he was forced to feel his way down, pushing himself recklessly into the abyss, knowing that his only safety lay in speed and silence.

 There was no sign of anyone else, and for a moment, he thought that he must have taken a wrong turning, managed to get himself lost in the eternal night, but finally he felt a hand tugging at him, dragging him into a small room. A light flashed on, and he saw the other three sitting around a table, Valya reaching into a hidden cubbyhole for an old knife, worn and battered.

 “Are we safe here?” Salazar asked.

 “I think so. No-one uses these any more. During the final stages of the mining, they tunneled down here into the heart of the asteroid, and in my great-grandfather's day they proofed the walls to make them airtight. One more project for our future that ended up getting canceled due to lack of resources.” She glared at Ortok, who shrugged.

 “Don't blame me. If you'd...”

 “No arguments!” Salazar said. “Not now. We don't have the time. Where exactly are we in relation to the control decks?”

 “These shafts tangle all over the place,” Valya replied. “When I was a kid, I used to come down here when I needed some time by myself. My father had an old plan of the layout, passed from his father, and he gave it to me. I must have been in every part of the tunnels at some point.” She chuckled, and said, “My teacher could never work out where I was hiding myself away.”

 Pulling out her communicator, Harper shook her head, “No signal. No surprise, this deep in the rock. We need to contact Alamo, let them know what has happened here.”

 “How long before your next contact time?”

 “Five and a half hours. Far too long,” Salazar said. “Whose idea was it to take us down to see the workers?”

 Nodding, Valya replied, “Tarak. He thought it might convince you to switch to our side. If he's working for the Council, then what's the plan?”

 “He's put the laser out of action,” Ortok said. “Our gunboats could launch a full-scale attack if they knew what had happened.” He looked enviously at Harper's communicator, and the hacker slid it back into her pocket.

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “That can't be it. They had no way of knowing that they'd get you, Valya. In fact, I'm sure he assumed that you would sit back and let them take us.”

 “I couldn't do that,” she said.

 Frowning, Harper replied, “Technically, it doesn't matter how you lose your hostages, as long as you lose them. I'm guessing that at some point soon, Tarak will be contacting Alamo with a very tragic story about how you decided to execute us for the murder of the guard, how he desperately tried to stop you, and that he needs rescuing.”

 “Captain Orlova won't buy it for a second,” Salazar said. “Not unless she saw the bodies.”

 “He doesn't know that, though,” Valya said. “He wants to discredit the Coalition, make you side with the Council against us.”

 “Would you?” Ortok said.

 “Not under any circumstances,” Salazar replied. “Short of a full-scale attack on Alamo itself by one side or another, and even then we'd probably just move off and let you fight it out.”

 Folding her arms, Harper said, “We can't just sit here and do nothing.” 

 “We don't have to do anything.” Glancing at his watch, Salazar said, “Either we'll miss our check-in time and Alamo will send in the Espatiers, or Tarak will try some sort of unconvincing story, and the same thing will happen. Either way, help will be on the way, and soon. We might not be able to contact the ship from here, but we could certainly pick up signals from an approaching shuttle, or from an assault force.”

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “We've got to take some action to help ourselves. They know where we went, and a systematic search of these tunnels will find us soon enough. Can we access any communications equipment?”

 “There's a storage room four levels up. Some surplus gear is stored there that might be of use, but it would take a lot of work to get them together.”

 “I'll help,” Ortok said. Looking around, he added, “I don't want to be torn apart by a mob either.” He paused, then added, “I'm no fool. I know which way things are heading.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “Where do I need to go?”

 “You don't,” Valya said. “I've got to do it. You'd never find your way through the tunnels. It took me years to find my way, and that was when I still had the plans. I'll go.”

 “Then I'll go with you,” Salazar said. “You'll need someone to ride shotgun.”

 “What?”

 “To watch your back.”

 She nodded, and said, “Besides, you aren't certain that you can trust me, and you need to keep your options open and make sure I don't run off.”

 “Am I that obvious?”

 “Let's just say I want to play poker with you some day, Pavel,” Harper said.

 “Fine,” Valya said, climbing past Salazar. “This way.”

 The two of them scrambled down another long shaft, climbing through the gloom, struggling to make anything out in the darkness, then around another corner, and another, and a third, through a tangled mess of identical shafts with no distinguishing features, no markings, no way of finding their way through.

 “I'm impressed,” Salazar said.

 “Trick memory,” she replied. “One look at something and it's in forever. There's a reason they made me boss of the laser crew at twenty-five.” Glancing back, she said, “Two more turns, and we're there. I want you to promise me something.”

 “I won't hurt anyone unless I have to, and I'll strike to stun, not to kill. I came here to save lives, not take them.” He paused, then said, “I've seen too much death for one lifetime already. I'm not in a hurry to see more.”

 She looked up into his eyes, and said, “You understand, don't you. I didn't think someone not from our system could, but you do.”

 Climbing through the last stretch of tunnel, they came to a hatchway, a faint crack admitting a thin beam of light. Salazar listened at the door, but there was nothing on the other side, no movement, no sound. With a nod, Valya pulled the hatch open, a grinding noise from the mechanism setting them both on edge.

 While he made for the door, Valya started to gather components and tools into a work bag, recklessly scooping them from the shelves. Anything that might be useful went in, along with anything that happened to be in the way. As she made her way to another shelf, Salazar heard footsteps outside, and gestured for her to be silent.

 If she was going to betray him, now was the time. One shout, one cry for help, and he'd have no chance of getting away. Even if he did manage to make it to the shaft, finding his way back to Harper and Ortok would be impossible. The footsteps grew nearer, low, muttered conversation as they approached the storage room. He stood by the door, hardly daring to take a breath, while they paused outside, their conversation briefly growing louder.

 Then, as quickly as they had come, they departed, moving on down the corridor. Salazar waited until they were out of earshot, then moved over to Valya, helping her with the last few components.

 “You didn't think I'd do something, did you?” she asked.

 He paused, then said, “No. No, I don't think you would.”

 With a smile, she climbed into the hatch, scurrying up the ladder, Salazar right behind her. He slammed the hatch closed with a loud clang, his heart stopping for a moment, half-expecting to hear cries and shouts from behind, the passing technicians alerted by the noise.

 “What are you waiting for?” Valya asked.

 “Nothing,” he said. “I'm coming.”

Chapter 17

 Kelgar slammed his fist on the table, and said, “We cannot concede control! Itix is essential to our continued survival. I will not see it thrown to an enemy.”

 Shaking his head, Poltis replied, “You can't maintain it! Every year the systems grow worse. Our technicians are far better trained...”

 “And now you insult our technical staff as well?”

 Pressing his point, he continued, “...to keep the station in repair. We would naturally continue to supply Skybase, but if you wish us to give up our combat potential, we must have some sort of leverage in return.” He leaned back on his chair, and said, “I remind you once again that this facility was built by the Coalition, not the Council.”

 “On territory that you do not own!”

 Shaking his head, Yorax said, “Maybe we could move to another point. The Coalition is holding more than three hundred of our people, and subjecting them to conditions of forced labor.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “Surely the Triplanetary Confederation would support the chance to bring those people home, where they belong.”

 “Well, Poltis?” she asked.

 With a shrug, the politician replied, “Theoretically, I'd be more than happy to satisfy you, but most of the people we're talking about have chosen to take Coalition citizenship.” He waved a datapad in the air, and said, “I've checked. Less than fifty of the people on this list actually want to return to Skybase, mainly those taken in the last few months.”

 “You've brainwashed them,” Kelgar said, shaking his head. “Contaminated them with your culture, your trickery. We can set them right again, once they are returned to us.”

 “All we've done is shown them how to live free, to make their own decisions and choices, rather than tying them to a decaying relic of the past,” Vyram said. “I can't blame them for wanting to stay, and we won't force them to return. Especially not if they face a future of slavery and so-called deprogramming.” Looking at Orlova, he said, “These are our people now, and I will not see harm come to them.”

 “If I may say,” Powell interrupted, “You are all, and remain, one people. The resources at your disposal will satisfy one culture, not two, and there must be unity.”

 “I agree,” Kelgar said. “We always have. The Coalition is welcome to join us.”

 “And we're back to that again,” Poltis replied. “The same old song.” Shaking his head, he said, “You need us more than we need you. I advise you remember that. A battle between our two powers would not end well for you.”

 Vyram glanced at Yorax for a moment, then said, “Whilst we would win, Coordinator, the price would be high, terribly high.”

 “I agree,” Orlova said. “All it would do is accelerate the end. Remember, one stray missile and the base on the surface is destroyed.”

 Shaking his head, Kelgar said, “I'd be happier to see it torn to shreds than left in the hands of the Coalition. My responsibility is for the fate of tens of thousands of people, suffering and starving.”

 “I will gladly take that burden from you,” Poltis replied. 

 Slamming her gavel, Orlova said, “Gentlemen, we're going around in circles here. Can we at least agree one basic, fundamental reality. That the situation you are facing requires that you co-operate in order to survive, and that in effect, you are both equal powers.” Glancing at Poltis, she said, “The Coalition has the bulk of the technical personnel, as well as more outposts in the outer limits of the system, while Skybase has the mass of population. It's a situation that cannot go on forever.”
 “I'd like to advocate transferring population to the planet again,” Powell said. “My team has been looking over potential colony sites, and...”

 “Live in the dirt?” Kelgar said. “We are spaceborn. We do not descend to the level of the barbarian savages that infest the planet, and I find the very suggestion offensive.”

 With a sigh, Poltis replied, “While I would be willing to accept a relocation of my people to the surface, I cannot do so while the Council retain a military capability. I know exactly what would happen if we left ourselves to their mercy, and I cannot countenance it.” He paused, and said, “Perhaps if Alamo was to establish an orbital defense network to protect the planet.”

 “No!” Kelgar replied. “We need supplies from the surface to live! Once again you seek to cut off our vital sources of supply, and kill our population. That's been your plan from the very beginning, hasn't it. Wipe us out, and steal our technology to guarantee your own survival.”

 Shaking his head, Poltis said, “Everyone in the Coalition works for our greater good on a daily basis. We don't support involuntary parasites like you do.” He smiled, and said, “Perhaps another solution. Allow anyone who wishes to leave Skybase to join us in our outposts. We could support another five thousand people, if we had access to the extraction sites at...”

 Orlova's communicator beeped, and she said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. May I suggest a five-minute recess?”

 “It won't change anything,” Vyram said, soft sadness in his voice.

 She rose from her seat, moved to a corner of the room, and quietly said, “Orlova here. Go ahead.”

 “Nelyubov here, ma'am. There's some odd activity taking place at Arcadia. We've picked up a second freighter heading down from the base.”

 “How did we miss that?”

 “It was heading towards the outer belt when it did a major course change in a blind spot. She's on final re-entry right now, landing in twelve minutes. I've attempted to contact Ensign Cooper, but I can't get through to him.” He paused, then said, “And one of the Skybase gunboats just lit its engine, on hard burn for the planet. Orbit in one hour, nine minutes.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Keep trying to contact Cooper and Cantrell, and see if Sub-Lieutenant Salazar has picked up anything. Maintain alert status for the present.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 Turning back to the table, she saw the Council delegation huddled in a group at the far end of the room, Kelgar holding a communicator. Vyram walked over to her, shaking his head.

 “They aren't going to see reason. I'm not sure that we're any better.”

 “At least both sides are talking,” she replied. “That's an improvement.”

 “One that I suspect will not last as soon as Alamo leaves the system. We need long-term help. Frankly, at this stage, I'd almost welcome it if you declared that you were taking over. At least we'd have some sort of reliable government.” He paused, then said, “We need guarantees of security, and we're not going to get them. It's a paradox, isn't it. Both sides have to maintain a military they can't afford because the other side refuses to disarm. Odd that no-one ever asks the soldiers whether they want to fight a war.”

 “Captain!” Kelgar said, storming over to her. “I have just been informed that your security force on Arcadia have taken control of the base, and imprisoned all of its personnel. This is a gross violation of our security, and I insist that you order your men away at once.” Fury spreading across his face, he continued, “Furthermore, I will want everyone involved to face trial under the laws of the Council.”

 Folding her arms, Orlova said, “We have no communication with the surface, as I am certain you know, and we don't have any idea what is happening down there. I do know that Ensign Cooper would only have taken such action if he had been attacked by your people. My staff have also told me that you have dispatched a transport and a gunboat to the planet.”

 “Are you disputing that we have the right to defend our territory?”

 “Both ships were dispatched before you received word from the planet.”

 “That's a violation of the ceasefire agreement,” Vyram said, shaking his head. “All military ships were to remain in position while the conference was under way.”

 “We didn't sign an agreement to allow ourselves to be conquered by this woman!” Kelgar yelled. “For all we know, the two of you have a secret treaty to bring us down.”

 “Administrator, let me be blunt. This ship could wipe out your entire fleet, and likely not suffer any serious damage in the battle. We don't need to deceive or trick you. If I gave the order, your base, your outposts, and your ships would be conquered in a matter of hours.”

 Nodding, Vyram said, “Give that order, Captain, and we'll he honored to fight at your side.”
 “Then this is a deception!” Pointing his finger at Orlova, he said, “I give you one hour to hand over Ensign Cooper and his team to me, and to liberate the base from your control. Failing that, you must consider that a state of war exists between our two governments.” A twisted smile crossed his face, and he added, “I venture that we might have a few surprises for you. We won't fall easily, and maybe not at all.”

 Turning, he stormed out of the room, the honor guard barely able to get out of the way in time. Yorax and Trant watched him go, then walked over to Orlova, their expressions laden with gloom.

 “What's happened down there?” Yorax asked. “You really don't know?”

 “I haven't got the slightest idea.” Shaking her head, she said, “I know Cooper. Assuming he has taken action against the personnel at the base, he would have had a very good reason for it.”

 “If Kelgar has arranged some sort of a trap, he hasn't told me about it,” the veteran said. “Trant, why don't you see if you can calm him down. Maybe he'll listen to reason. Maybe.”

 “We might have gone beyond that, but I'll see what I can do.”

 Nodding, Yorax continued, “Captain, I'd like your permission to head out to our gunboat squadron. I'll need to borrow one of your transfer shuttles. The commander they chose is by-the-book, and I have a feeling he'll obey the orders of the Council without question. If I'm in command, I might be able to stop this from escalating.” With a sigh, he said, “Though if it comes to it, I'll have to do what my sense of duty requires, no matter what that means.”

 “I understand,” Orlova said. “Scott, take the Director down to the hangar deck. I want Orbital Two scrambled for launch to take him to his flagship.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” her aide said, rising to her feet.

 Looking at Yorax, Vyram said, “I'd better be doing the same. If we end up in a shooting war, I want to be on the bridge of my ship.” As Yorax stepped into the elevator, he replied, “Somehow, I think that we're likely to be on the same side when the shooting starts. If the Council decides to attack your ship, we will enter the fight in support.”

 Nodding, Poltis said, “I concur. This is senseless, pointless, but we know which side to support. We stand with the Confederation, Captain. For whatever it is worth.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “The whole point of this conference was to end your differences, not escalate them.”

 “That's their choice, Captain, and the Council seem hell-bent on committing suicide. I assure you that we will not be joining them.”

 “Let's hope that it doesn't come to that.”

 “No soldier wants a war, Captain,” Vyram said. “I'd better be on my way. The elevator will take me to the hangar deck, yes?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Scott will assist you when you get down there.”

 “Thank you.”

 As the delegations filed out of the room, Poltis staring out of the window, lost in thought, Orlova pulled out her datapad, looking at the tactical situation. The gunboats and the sailships were moving into attack formations, spikes in communications traffic suggesting that they were going to battle stations. Not a surprise.

 “Nelyubov to Orlova,” her communicator said.

 “Go ahead, Frank.”

 “I don't have any good news, I'm afraid. I can't regain contact with Ensign Cooper, Lieutenant Cantrell, or anyone on the landing team. They're going to have company in around nine minutes.” He paused, then added, “I've also lost contact with Lieutenant Harper and Sub-Lieutenant Salazar. Neither is responding to hails, and the base they were on is refusing to accept our signals.”

 “What was that?” Poltis asked.

 Turning to him, Orlova said, “It seems that your people have decided that it is time to take matters into their own hands.”

 “I swear to you, Captain, that I have not given any orders for your people to be detained. I'm not a fool, I know what your ship could do.” Shaking his head, he said, “Are you sure this is not some sort of trick, the Council jamming your signals?”

 “I'm afraid not,” Orlova replied.

 He paused, then said, “Let me talk to them. Maybe I can at least find out what is going on.” He looked down at the deck, and added, “We knew that this was our last hope. If someone has decided to throw that away, I will know why. Please believe me, Captain, this is not an official action of our government.”

 Frowning, she said, “I won't take any action yet, Coordinator. I think we've got our hands full at the moment in any case. Nevertheless, I expect to immediately learn of anything you discover, and if I find that harm has come to my crewmen...”

 “I'll get on it right away, Captain.” He took a seat at the table and pulled out his communicator, resting on the surface of the desk, while she glanced at her datapad again. Nothing was changed, the situation the same as the last time she looked. Alamo couldn't get to Arcadia soon enough to do anything, even if she wanted to allow the stalemate to break.

 Powell stepped over to her, and said, “Strange, isn't it. Such a beautiful system hosting such ugliness.” Shaking his head, he replied, “I have a feeling that the local population is set to experience a sharp decline.”

 “I don't accept that. Not yet.”

 “You can't win them all, Captain, and you can't impose a lasting peace on these people.” Turning to look at Poltis, frantically jabbering into his communicator, he said, “They're still fighting the war, the one their ancestors started. They might claim that it is a matter of survival, but if that were the case, they would have found a way to co-operate generations ago. I suspect they no longer truly know why they fight, only that they must.”

 “Civilization in this system...”

 “Is dead, Captain.” He pulled out his datapad, and said, “There is no realistic alternative aside from abandoning the bulk of their space-based infrastructure and returning to the surface. Even then, I expect casualties, but if they can phase their recolonization in over a long enough period, they can keep them to a minimum.” With a sigh, he continued, “Technological civilization died in this system centuries ago. All that remains is the twitching corpse.”

 Tapping a readout, he said, “We've accessed both of their databases now, going over their resource base, their knowledge. No new discoveries for centuries, just a few refinements of techniques. No new cultural developments, no works of art, of literature, other than the imitative. No great composers, mathematicians, philosophers.”

 “That isn't really fair,” Orlova replied. “These people have been hanging on by their finger-tips for all those years. They haven't had the time to develop along the lines you suggest. All of their energies have simply been based on survival.”

 “True, but it did not need to be so.” Looking at the sky again, he said, “From what little I can tell, simple survival after the Cataclysm was a great battle, one they won, but they squandered their victory. They've had time, Captain. Centuries of time to consolidate, to build. Either to return to their homeworld or construct a new civilization out among the stars. Did we have so much more on Mars, than they did on their Skybase? Earth was little enough help to us in our earliest years.” Shaking his head, he said, “The irony is that they are no different to the people on the surface, just a pair of tribes picking over the bones of the past to survive.”

 “I can't give up on them, Professor. I don't know how.”

 Nodding, he replied, “You might have to face up to the possibility that they have given up on themselves, and when someone chooses to do that, there is no force in the universe that can save them.”

 “Nelyubov to Orlova,” her communicator chimed. “That transport is about to land, ma'am. We've got some good resolution images from our orbiting probe. No sign of life from the station at all, and still no communications traffic that we can detect.” He paused, and said, “We're picking up signs of reinforcements on the way here. Four gunboats, five sailships, all timed to arrive around the time of the Administrator's deadline. I think they're serious about making their last stand here.”

 With a sigh, she replied, “Thanks, Frank. I'll be down with you on the bridge in a minute. Make preparations for battle stations.” She closed the channel, looked at Powell, and added, “I'm not giving up. Not until the very last second.”

Chapter 18

 The buggy roared up to the airlock as the transport flew overhead, its landing jets playing around the ground as it slowed for a landing. Cooper leapt out of the cabin, racing towards the open hatch, Cantrell and Reana right behind him. The girl stopped at the door, shaking her head, as the roar of the transport's engines resounded around.

 “No. No,” she said.

 “Come on,” Cantrell said. “We've got to get inside.”

 Waving her spear, the girl said, “If this a trap...”

 “Sir?” Hunt said, standing at the threshold. “I've stood the men to. Lance-Corporal Price and Private Yaskova are at the medical bay, and everyone else is standing by at the docking airlock.” He looked at the transport as it settled down on the landing pad. “As soon as we get inside, I've fixed all the outside hatches to seal. They won't be able to get in without a lot of trouble.”

 Finally, Reana stepped tentatively inside, and the hatch slammed shut behind her, the locks snapping into place. She looked accusingly up at Cooper, then followed him down the corridor, along the outer ring of the dome, towards the docking hatch. The dome was exactly as Hunt had described, an old first-stage colonization module, the material fading, the outer ports pitted and scarred from long use. Strips of light ran down the ceiling, white and antiseptic, and there was a bitter tang to the air, sharp contrast to the freshness of the world outside.

 Reana screamed as she saw Private Danus, who looked at Cooper in surprise as he walked down the corridor towards them. The girl shook her head, shrinking back to the wall, brandishing her spear.

 “Don't worry, little one,” Danus said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

 “A demon!” she yelled.

 “That isn't a demon, he's a private in the Triplanetary Espatier Corps,” Cantrell said. “A lot more fearsome than any demon, but he's here to protect you.”

 “Really?” she asked.

 Nodding, Danus said, “That's right. If anyone wants to get you, they'll have to get through me first. As well as the rest of the squad.” Turning to Cooper, he said, “They've engaged the docking clamps, sir, but they haven't made any attempt to break in yet.”

 “Can they get through that way?”

 “Not without explosives, sir. I broke the circuit. I guess we'll find out just how reluctant they are to go outside.”

 “And Naxos?”

 Gesturing ahead to a figure crouched on the floor, the Neander replied, “I thought he might be useful to have around, sir, so I brought him along. I figure someone on that ship may want him more than we do, though that isn't saying much.”

 “I don't know anything!” Naxos screamed, rocking back and forth. “I don't know anything!”

 “He keeps shouting that,” Rhodes said. “Over and over again, since we brought him back inside.”

 “Raval to Ensign Cooper,” an overhead speaker said. “There is a microphone pickup on the door. Please come over to it, and we can talk like civilized people.”

 Trying to control his rage, he stepped over to the door, Cantrell moving by his side, and said, “Are you responsible for the massacre in the settlement? The murder of dozens of innocent people?”

 “Please understand, Ensign. You've seen the genetic refuse that makes up much of our population. We're desperate, and we're dying, and if the only way we can survive is with an infusion of fresh blood, so be it. The children are treated no differently from any other. Once we have extracted the material we need, the females are usually returned to the planet, though I confess that our surgical techniques are primitive enough that not all of them survive the procedure.”

 “What about their parents?” he said. “What about the dead?”

 “Sometimes the savages yield to our requirements without a fight. Occasionally they opt for suicide instead, and we are forced to take what we need. Casualties are inevitable, but the war we are raging is for the survival of our race itself.” He sighed, and said, “The deaths are regrettable, but necessary.”

 “Regrettable!” Cantrell yelled. “You killed old women, children, gunning them down where they stood, then tried to burn the evidence! You didn't even bury them!”

 “I would not expect you to understand.”

 “Oh, Raval,” Cooper said, “I understand. All too well. Rather than approaching the inhabitants of the planet in peace, you choose to take what you want, and destroy what you don't. That sort of thinking is what led to the destruction of your planet in the first place.” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “As soon as we establish contact with Alamo, I assure you that everyone in the system will know what you have done.”

 “That isn't going to happen, Ensign,” the doctor said, continuing to ignore Cantrell. “Administrator Kelgar has issued an ultimatum, requiring that you turn yourselves over to us for trial. Otherwise, he will order an attack on Alamo. Further, I am in communication with my colleagues in the medical unit on the base, who currently hold fifteen of the local inhabitants hostage. I am willing to talk terms.”

 “If you think that I am going to accept any terms aside from unconditional surrender from someone who has committed crimes against humanity, you are very much mistaken.”

 “I can have the women we have taken replaced very easily, Ensign. To us, they are expendable, but I do not believe that you would want to have their blood on your hands.” He paused, then said, “We had no choice, Ensign. It was that, or watch our people die. Believe me, if there was any alternative, I would take it, but we do not have the medical technology to solve this problem any other way.”

 Looking at Cantrell, he said, “What sort of terms did you have in mind?”

 “Cooper, I order…,” Cantrell began, but he gave a hacking motion with his hand, and though her face reddened, she remained silent.

 “I will free the prisoners we have taken, and you will return to Alamo on this ship. Everything will be explained as a communications breakdown, and I will, on behalf of our government, issue an apology for the misunderstanding. In exchange, all data will be deleted regarding any incidents you may have observed, and the peace conference that your Captain Orlova has labored over will continue. The alternative is at best a stalemate, and at worst your defeat and death. Remember, Ensign, it is you who have seized our base, and committed an act of war.”

 He paused, then said, “I need time to think about it.”

 “I give you five minutes. No more. Raval out.”

 “Gabe,” Cantrell said, “Tell me that you were just stalling for time.”

 “I am not letting him win. Corporal, how many ways into the medical unit?”

 “Just two, sir. Both of them secured blast doors, locked tight.” He paused, then said, “They must have hidden their captives somewhere, sir, and we missed it on our sweep. When this is over, if you want my...”

 “You didn't know what you were looking for, Corporal. It wasn't your fault. Could we rush them, force the doors?”

 “We don't have any explosives with us, sir. Just normal ship-side deployment. Inventory suggests that there is no usable equipment on the base, either.” Shaking his head, he said, “Given a little time, we could come up with something, but we're not going to get the time.”

 Looking down at the writhing Naxos, Cooper said, “I hope you've been listening to all of this. I might not be able to get my hands on Raval, but you're looking like a pretty tempting target.”

 “I didn't know anything! Just that I was ordered to prevent you getting out onto the surface. Yorax briefed me himself, told me that I should come on strong, that I needed to make it clear to you where the boundaries were.” Yelling at the ceiling, he said, “The bastard sent me here to die!”

 “You aren't dead yet,” Cooper said.

 “Do you believe him, sir?” Hunt asked.

 “I doubt he'd have allowed himself to be captured if he knew the truth.”

 Reana poked the prone guard lightly with his spear, and said, “Bad man.”

 Looking up at her, tears in his eyes, he said, “I didn't know! I'm no monster! I'm just trying to do my job, trying to defend my people. You've got to believe me!”

 Kneeling down by the weeping guard, Cooper said, “Maybe. Or maybe you'll say anything in a desperate attempt to save your own skin.” He paused, then said, “Under normal circumstances I wouldn't do this, but I'm going to give you a chance to save yourself.” Turning to Rhodes, he said, “Free him.”

 “Sir?”

 “That's an order.”

  Frowning, Rhodes knelt down, removing the restraints. Slowly, cautiously, Naxos rose to his feet, rubbing his wrists to bring back the circulation, looking around nervously at the menacing troopers.

 “You're going to escape, Naxos. With bullets slamming into the walls all around you. Head to medical, and convince them to let you in. If you really want to save your people, we need to take those hostages back. Do you understand me?”

 He nodded, and replied, “What if they won't let me in?”

 “Oh, we'll make it as convincing as we can, I assure you. As for the rest, we'd better hope that your powers of persuasion are a damn sight better with your friends than they were with us.” Looking down at his watch, he said, “What are you waiting for?”

 With a quick look, Naxos sprinted down the corridor towards the medical unit, Rhodes and Danus firing after him, bullets smashing into the wall by his side, one of them knocking out a light strip, sending a shower of sparks raining down. The squad followed him, moving quickly, chasing after him as close as they dared, firing a series of wild shots.

 Turning a corner, they slowed, giving the rogue guard just enough of a head-start for his actions to look convincing. He pounded on the door, screaming in the native language, the tone suggesting a begging, grovelling plea for life. After a few seconds, the hatch slid open, and a hand reached out to bring him in.

 Cooper was first, his shot neatly drilling through the errant limb, racing forward to the hatch before they could close it. Behind him, Danus charged, Rhodes right beside him, pistols and knives in hand as they dashed into medical. Inside, a dozen technicians nursed pistols, standing over a group of women wearing brown robes, all tied to the wall with short lengths of plastic cable. As the Espatiers entered, the technicians swung down behind their captives, using them as human shields.

 “Hand-to-hand!” he yelled, diving into the fray, slashing at the nearest technician, the rage he had felt since seeing the burning village taking over as he cut his way though. Behind him, his squad followed, pushing past the dazed Naxos, still standing in the door, the wounded technician hanging onto him.

 Two technicians ganged up on him, one with a pistol, the other with a long, steel pipe. Before the first could pull the trigger, Cooper tossed his blade at him, catching him in the wrist and sending the gun clattering to the floor. The second swung low, aiming for his chest, but the veteran trooper ducked underneath the blow, striking out with his elbow to catch him in the side of the head, sending the two of them tumbling down in a pile.

 He looked up to see the first one scrambling for his pistol, leveling it at Cooper as he struggled to free himself from the unconscious figure lying on top of him. Just as he was pulling the trigger, a red stain appeared on his front, the tip of a spear ripping through his jacket, Reana avenging the murder of her people.

 Finally freeing himself, he raced forward towards the girl, trying to rescue her, get her out of the fighting, but another technician was nearer, knife in hand, slashing down. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Cooper tried to save her, but the other man was too quick, too close. At the last second, another figure dived in, between the girl and the knife, taking the blow that was meant for the girl before collapsing to the ground. Naxos.

 Felling the technician with a blow to the head that sent him toppling to the deck, Cooper yelled, “Enough!” Behind him, the fight was coming to an end, the women looking down upon the few remaining technicians, huddled in a corner. He looked around his squad, covered in bruises and cuts, but none of them seemed badly wounded. Their foes had suffered far worse, half a dozen of them dead or wounded, not one of them untouched by the battle.

 “We give in!” one of them yelled. “Don't kill us.”

 “I'll leave that for the court,” Cooper said.

 “Sir?” Gidzenko said, kneeling beside Naxos. “He's in a bad way. Chest wound.”

 “You're in the right place, Specialist. Do what you can for him.” He looked down at the guard, his face strangely tranquil as his life ebbed away onto the floor. Turning to the surviving technicians, he said, “Save his life, or I'll end yours.”

 As they moved to their work, Reana stepped over to one of the women, a tall, rangy figure with gray streaks in her hair, tears flooding from her eyes as she looked up to her. They exchanged quick words, garbled and unintelligible to Cooper.

 “I've told them that you are here to save us,” she said.

 “Get them free,” Cooper said, turning to Price. “Right now. And make sure any and all records they have here are secured on the double. I want them dumped onto something that can be read by the computers on Skybase as well as our own.”

 “No problem, sir,” he said. “Rhodes, cut them down, and be careful.”

 Behind them, Gidzenko carefully laid Naxos onto the nearest bed, laying his medical kit beside him as he began the fight to save the guard's life. Reana looked at him, watching the medic begin his work, shaking her head.

 “I don't understand. Why did he do that?”

 “Maybe he found out that he had some humanity left in him after all.”

 On the wall, a button flashed, and Cooper tapped the control, “I wondered how long it would take you, Raval. Did you enjoy the show?” 

 “You seemed to be having fun, Ensign. I didn't think you needed the distraction. My complements on your success, but it changes absolutely nothing. You are still my prisoners in every way that matters, and I still hold you all hostage. There is a gunboat in orbit, and my men have secured every exit. You cannot escape.” With a sigh, he added, “My offer remains open. Destroy all the data, and you can leave immediately. The captives can be freed, and go wherever they wish. You have my word on that.”

 “You'll have to forgive me for not wanting to accept your word for anything. We've secured the entire medical database of this station, and I rather suspect that a lot of people in this system will be very interested in the horror show you've been running down here. How far does this conspiracy go, Raval? I think we're going to find out.”

 “Say what you wish, Ensign. If you continue your recalcitrant attitude, you will never leave this planet alive. The life support systems are accessible from the outside, and it will be the work of a few moments to shut them down. In two or three hours, you will only have two choices. Suffocate or surrender. Raval out.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Damn him.”

 “What about the freighter?” Danus asked. “That has independent life support facilities.”

 “For twenty, and there are twice as many of us.” He paused, then added, “Besides, I'm sure there is a lot of mischief they can cause to their systems as well, if they want to. Lots of external access panels, or they could breach the oxygen tanks.” Looking at the prisoners, he said, “We'll have to see what we can organize for respirators. I'm not going to hand them back over to that monster.” He paused, looked at Cantrell, and said, “The freighter.”

 “No,” she said. “You've got to be out of your mind.”

 “All we have to do is get into free orbit, escape velocity. No fancy maneuvering needed.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “And I suppose the gunboat they've got in orbit will just move aside to let us pass? We'll be wide open, Cooper. Besides, you said it yourself. We can't evacuate everyone on that ship, it doesn't have the capability.”

 “I wouldn't risk civilians on that ship anyway. Just a minimal crew, the two of us.” Looking at a puzzled Hunt, he said, “On the surface, we can't contact anyone, can't communicate with Alamo, but once we get out of their jamming range, we can scream loud and clear to everyone, pass on the information we've learned, everything we know. There's no way that they'll attack us after that. What would be the point? Their secret will be out.”

 “We're talking about a pretty big risk, sir,” Hunt said. “The transport is old, in poor repair, and doesn't have any combat systems or capability to speak of. You'd be taking her up against a military vessel, presumably already at battle stations, positioned to prevent just such a launch.”

 “The alternative, Corporal, is that we let the situation in this system fall apart. We've got another deadline coming up, if the Administrator has given some sort of ultimatum. If we don't spread the word about what we've learned, there'll be a war that will wreck this civilization anyway. Unless, of course, they find some way of destroying our ship. It's bigger than just the people in this base. There are tens of thousands of lives at stake.”

 With a sigh, Cantrell said, “I've never flown a craft like this in atmosphere before. Not for real, anyway, and simulator training doesn't count for that much. Not to mention that the controls will be unfamiliar, and I don't know the feel of the craft or even the baseline performance statistics.”

 “All true,” Cooper said. “Are you in?”

 “After a speech like that,” she replied, “What choice do I have?”

Chapter 19

 “How much longer?” Salazar asked, looking at Harper, Ortok and Valya as they struggled to make some sense out of the tangle of machinery on the table. “They're going to be sweeping the decks. Sooner or later they'll find us down here, no matter how tangled the tunnels are.”

 “We're going as fast as we can,” Harper said, busily dismantling her communicator. As well as the holdall of parts, a datapad and a communicator had been sacrificed to the needs of the desperate project, the pieces scattered across the work area, connected with a spider's web of cables and leads. Salazar shook his head, and moved over to the door, wishing that he had a weapon, something he could use to give him an advantage.

 He strained to listen, catching the occasional ringing sound from overhead, a scattered word of conversation that echoed around the walls, sweeping all the way down here. It had been almost half an hour since their raid on the stores, and for most of that time there had been people all around them, sweeping through the tunnels.

 The noises were definitely getting louder, by the minute. He looked back at the equipment, and shook his head. It would be impossible to move it from the table, still less through the corridors, not without abandoning everything they'd gained. He pulled out his communicator, fiddling with the frequencies one last time, hoping to get even a trace of a signal, something that would solve this problem, a single message from Alamo.

 Anything could be happening out there. For all he knew, Alamo was in the middle of a battle for its life, could even have lost it, and he was stuck down here in the catacombs, watching a trio of engineers battle with their machinery, while all around him dozens of people were hunting him down, ready to kill him and the others if they stumbled across the room.

 “They're getting closer,” he said. 

 “If this is your idea of encouragement...” Harper began, but he interrupted.

 “I'd say we've got about five minutes before they get close enough that we'll need to make a run for it. No more than that, and possibly less. How long?”

 “Nearly there,” Valya said. “Three more connections, and then I can begin the testing process.”

 “Testing? Is that necessary?”

 “That depends.”

 “On what?”

 “On whether you want to be buried in a shower of sparks when we fire it up for the first time. We're doing this on the run, and for all we know, I've crossed a couple of dozen circuits.”

 Shaking his head, Ortok replied, “It doesn't matter. It'll never work anyway.”

 “It'll work,” Harper said, connecting the final power pack. “There's enough juice running through this rig that we should get a good strong signal, two-way, all the way to Alamo. Of course, that's going to set off every detector for a few thousand miles, so they'll be able to pinpoint our location down to the meter as soon as we signal.”

 Looking up at the hacker, Salazar said, “Now you tell me.”

 “What choice do we have? I'd just keep the conversation short, that's all.” She plugged in a headset, rested it on the desk, and said, “I'm ready at my end.”

 “The tests…”

 “Will take too long,” Salazar said. “We don't have minutes, we've got seconds. Have you completed your connections?”

 “I think so,” she said. “I haven't done anything like this in years.”

 “Years?” Ortok asked, shaking his head.

 With a shrug, she said, “I run the whole laser assembly, remember? It's been ages since I've done much in the way of hands-on maintenance. Still, it's just like putting on a spacesuit. You never really forget.”

 “And if you do, you die a slow, painful death,” Ortok replied. “Not a good analogy. I'm ready at my end.” Slamming a connection into position, he said, “Frequency modulator is ready to go, locked on your Triplanetary communications band.” Looking at Salazar, he asked, “Well, are you going to try it?”

 “Not yet, I'm not,” he said. “Valya, is there another safe house within reasonable distance of us? Somewhere where they can't find us?”

 “Reasonable distance, no. About half a mile away, on the far side of the base, there's a big network of tunnels around the water storage tanks. Nice and shielded. No way they'll spot us down there.” Gesturing at the hatch, she said, “Two left, then a long, long run down a narrow corridor with some twists and turns at the end. If we move quickly, they won't know what happened.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “Get going.”

 “What? After all of this...”

 “It won't go to waste. Captain Orlova needs to know what is going on down here, and I'm going to be the one to tell her.” Looking at Harper, he said, “Before you protest, ma'am, I'll point out that your practical skills are going to be a hell of a lot more use than mine down here. As for the rest of you, I'm a Triplanetary officer, and this is my job, not yours.”

 “Pavel, you'll never find your way through the tunnels.”

 “Then I get to act as a decoy as well as everything else,” he said. “You've got to get away, stay on the move, hold out long enough for the reinforcements to get here from Alamo. If one of us has to be captured, then let it be me.”

 “They'll kill you,” Harper said. “I'll stay. I outrank you, remember.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Call it a mutiny, if you like. Now get moving, we're wasting time. I might still have a chance if I can get this over with quickly enough.” Looking down at his watch, he said, “I'll give you a head-start of sixty seconds before I make the call.”

 Nodding, Valya said, “Two left, down a quarter mile, one right, one right, two left, up one, down three, along another quarter mile. Got it?”

 “I think so.”

 “That'll get you close enough for me to bring you the rest of the way. Good luck, Pavel.”

 “You'll need it more than I will,” he replied, as the trio disappeared down the tunnel, silently making their way into the darkness, disappearing from view in a matter of seconds. He glanced down at his watch, counting down the seconds, listening to the noise of the searchers overhead. The pattern didn't seem to change, no reaction to the movement of his friends, just a slow, steady search. He looked down at the equipment on the table, and smiled. Soon they would have a nice strong lead to go on, a beacon that would guide them right to him.

 As the last few seconds sped away, he strapped the headset on, adjusting the microphone to bring it next to his mouth, and reached down to throw the power packs up to maximum, wincing at the howl that ran through his ears, a whine that seemed to reverberate around his skull as the instruments set down. Static replaced it, the roaring noise of space itself, distorted signals from all over the universe rushing through the headphones.

 The time was up. He gave the others a few extra seconds for luck, then started to throw switches, reaching deep into the mechanism, a pair of sparks flashing into the air as the system powered up. A series of red and amber lights flicked on, warning of overloads and system failures in the near future, but none of that mattered for now. The one indicator he needed was green. Signal acquisition.

 “Salazar to Alamo, urgent! Come in, at once!”

 Rolling static answered him, but he knew that the ship was at least half a dozen light-seconds away, and he counted down the time as he waited for the reply, straining to hear. Six seconds passed, then seven, eight, nine, and despair began to seep into his thoughts as it appeared that all of this might have been for nothing, that the searchers who even now would be converging on his location, signal detectors in hand, would catch him before he could pass his signal. Turning the power up to maximum, he tried again.

 “Salazar to Alamo, urgent! Reply at once! I need to speak to the Captain!”

 Six more seconds, and finally a faint whisper of a reply, “Captain here. Report, Pavel.”

 Keeping it as short as he could, he replied, “Harper and I are on the run. Tarak is a double-, maybe a triple-agent, and appears to have taken control of the base and the laser. I cannot remain at this communicator for long, and will be unable to call again. What's happening out there?”

 “No good news, Sub-Lieutenant. We've got multiple contacts converging on us from all sides, and the situation is deteriorating by the minute. We could be facing a full-scale war any time now, and the Administrator of the Council has issued an ultimatum to the Coalition and Alamo.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Can you send a rescue party?”

 “Negative. If Alamo moves, it breaks the current ceasefire and the war begins at once, and I can't risk a shuttle under the current circumstances. You're going to have to stay on the run for the moment. Who is Tarak working for?”

 “Unknown. Claims to be a Council spy, but has a lot of influence in the Coalition. He might be playing both sides against each other. Don't trust anything he says, or anything coming from this base. We can hold out here for as long as you need.”

 “Roger, Pavel. Don't worry, we're not going to leave you behind. Help will be on the way as soon as we can send it. Just hang on. Orlova out.”

 Ripping off the headset, Salazar looked down at the communicator, the laboriously constructed device that had served only to relay terrible news. Curls of smoke were already beginning to rise, and there was a distinct odor of ozone in the air, heralding a destructive end for the improvised equipment in the near future.

 As he had feared, voices were converging on him from all sides, and he pushed out of the room, not looking back, sparks erupting through the air as he left, heading down the corridor as quickly as he could, pushing off against the wall to gain speed, the low gravity allowing him to move in long, loping bounces.

 He glanced around, trying to make out if anyone was out in the darkness, waiting for him, but there was no sign of activity, no sign of life. Running through Valya's hurried instructions in his mind, he took the second path to the left, diving around a series of drooping cables, shrugging through the obstruction as he raced into the darkness, trying to outrun his pursuers. 

 A loud explosion echoed through the corridors, the final death of the communicator as the power packs went. Likely it had sounded a lot worse than it was, but it might serve to slow down the enemy forces for long enough to give him a chance to get away. As the noise subsided, loud voices shouted around, panicked cries and angry barks filling the air, some of them uncomfortably close.

 As he took the next turning, he glanced back to see a figure chasing after him, the beam of a torchlight briefly enveloping his body before he swung out of sight. He had to have been spotted, and he turned, diving back towards his pursuer in a desperate attempt to silence him before he could report back, knocking a communicator out of his hand as he crashed into the figure, writhing and turning in the corridor.

 He took a blow to the stomach that threw him against the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs and blurring his vision before he could recover, kicking out with his legs to buy time, wildly flailing about, connecting with something soft he couldn't even see, tumbling around in panic. The figure latched onto his leg, pulling him back, but he stomped his other boot on the figure's wrist, hearing a scream of pain that echoed around.

 Turning back, he looked into the face of his enemy, an earnest, young man, with pain on his face and fierce determination in his eyes. They both paused for a second, staring at each other, as though gauging the other's might, before lunging at each other again, rolling back down the corridor in the wrong direction. Finally, Salazar took a swing at the figure's head, and the young man's eyes closed, his body growing limp as he crashed down onto the floor.

 Gently, Salazar took the figure's pulse, then placed him in a comfortable position on the floor, taking off his uniform jacket and covering him with it. The corridors were cold, air currents sweeping through, and he might not be found for hours, assuming he was found at all. He looked down at the figure, shaking his head, then pushed off down the corridor, into the long shaft Valya had spoken of.

 It almost became a game after a few moments, pushing off against the wall, trying to keep his speed up, trying to stay in the air, pushing against the floor with his sore foot to remain clear of the ground, periodically swinging back and forth when some obstruction appeared ahead of him, cables, pipes, even a bundle of old uniforms at one point.

 He glanced back as little as he dared, dreading seeing someone at the far end of the corridor, looking down, spotting him and coming after him. He'd have no choice but to surrender at that point, nowhere to run in this long, narrow tunnel, just a faint hope that he might be able to throw them off the scent of the others. By now, with luck, they'd be nestled into their hiding place, somewhere down at the far end of the base.

 Finally, he reached a turning, and anxiously swung around, clipping his shoulder against the wall with bruising force, enough to send him dropping to the ground, panting for breath. He waited for a few heartbeats to recover, forcing himself to breathe deeply to steady his nerves, listening out for any sign of activity. The only thing he could hear was a methodical dripping noise from up ahead, regular as a metronome, a beacon in the darkness.

 At least he knew he was on the right track. Somewhere down there were the water tanks he was searching for, and with luck, his friends with them. It seemed hard to believe that he had made it this far already, and as he pushed on, he strained to remember the last of the instructions Valya had given him before she'd left, twisting his way through tunnels, trying to match them with what she had said, his tired mind jumbling up the order. He paused at a crossroads, looking in each direction, then up at a shaft that seemed to head to nowhere, realizing that he was hopelessly lost.

 Or perhaps not. There was still the dripping leak, and it seemed to be a lot nearer than it had been before, somewhere to the right of him. He backtracked down the tunnel for a few feet, still wary of pursuit, then took a different path, down and underneath a series of low pipes. Up ahead, he could hear whispered sounds, and he froze, lying still. He strained to listen, trying to make out any familiar accents, phrases, names.

 When the realization hit him, it was all he could do not to scream with relief. Whoever was up ahead was speaking English. He hadn't been able to make out a word that his pursuers had said, any decipherable meaning garbled in the echoes of the corridors, but this had to be Harper, Ortok and Valya.

 Still wary, he edged forward, stepping through pools of stagnant water, slimy residue sticking to his shirt, trying to make as little noise as possible while making the last couple of turns. As he swung around the final corridor, his eyes widened as he saw stars beneath him, his heart skipping a beat as he looked down at the view, and the shadows that were obscuring parts of it.

 “Good God,” Harper said. “You made it.” She leapt up, wrapping her arms around him, and said, “When we heard that explosion, we thought it had taken you with it.”

 “Me? Not yet,” he said. “I left it running at full power to create a distraction. Looks like it fooled them, as well. Only one of them managed to catch me, and I left him way back in the tunnels.”

 “Dead?” Valya asked, her face falling.

 “Knocked out,” he replied. “He'll be fine when he wakes up, just a black eye and a headache.”

 “Well?” Ortok asked. “What's the news from Alamo? How long until the relief force gets here?”

 Looking around at the hopeful faces, Salazar forced himself to reply, “It isn't. Not yet, at least. The Coalition and the Council are in a standoff over Itix, and Captain Orlova thinks that war could break out at any time. She can't send a shuttle, not in those conditions. It'd be shot out of the sky before it got clear of the hull.”

 “Then we're back to square one,” Valya said with a sigh. “I guess we can hold out here for a while. There's a tap just down the corridor, and some emergency rations are cached not far from here.”

 “No,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “I'm not going to sit here and wait while civilization destroys itself in this system. We need to do something to give Alamo an edge, and the answer is sitting right here in the base, waiting for us to use it. We need to take control of the laser cannon.”

 “You can't be serious,” Ortok said. “It'll be guarded, protected.”

 “All true,” Salazar said. “And we're going to do it anyway. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter 20

 Sprinting into the transport, Cooper reached up to close the airlock behind him as Cantrell scrambled up the ladder to the bridge. Waiting on the far side, Reana watched as the hatch slammed shut, huge eyes boring into him, her face an empty mask. He paused for a moment, looking at the cold metal bulkhead, as though she was looking through the hull at him, somehow. A whine from below dragged him back to reality.

 “Cooper, get up here! We're going for launch! Now!”

 Pulling himself hand over hand up the ladder, his shoulder aching from the bruising he'd sustained in the battle, he raced forward to the bridge, leaping for the copilot's couch as Cantrell threw switches, puzzling over each one, shaking her head as she looked at the readouts. She poised her hand over a control, then turned to look at him.

 “When I punch this button, one of two things will happen. Either the main lateral jets will fire, sending us up into the air and beginning the launch sequence, or I will have guessed wrong and we will probably explode into several million fragments.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “My wife was right. You really are trouble.”

 “Hell, I've got a reputation to live up to. Hang on.” She slammed the control, and the ship lurched upward, four powerful jets slamming into the launchpad, sending torrents of dust and dirt flying through the air. They soared up, higher and higher, warning lights flashing on as she quickly worked the controls, hitting buttons on instinct while Cooper looked on. “I think I might have used the afterburner. Sorry.”

 With a smile, Cooper replied, “You've ruined the paintwork on Raval's ship, I'll say that.”

 “He can send me the bill. I have some interesting anatomical ideas about where it can go.”  Pulling back the throttle, the engines roared into life, forcing them both back into their couches, gasping for breath under the acceleration load. She eased back, bringing it down to a safer level, and looked at the controls. About half of them were in English, modified United Nations equipment, but the rest was in the same strange script as everything else, and with functions it seemed almost impossible to guess at.

 Nevertheless, the ship was heading up, racing across the landscape, the base already out of sight. He looked down into the forest, the black scar of the massacre still visible, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about it, to focus on the task at hand. Readouts on the panel in front of him danced around, moving out of sequence, and he looked across at Cantrell, her gaze locked tightly on the controls.

 “I hope you aren't expecting anything particularly fancy today,” she said. “I can probably get us up into a safe orbit without too much trouble, but getting to a specific point in space would be another story completely. God only knows how the navigation computer works. Their co-ordinate system is baffling, and as far as I can see they've got a base-13 number system for some reason.”

 “As long as you can get us moving.”

 With a shrug, she said, “There are only so many ways you can design a panel, and a planetary takeoff isn't that difficult.” Reaching over to tap a panel, she continued, “Just keep an eye on the sensor display. That's old United Nations issue, pretty standard.”

 “Museum-quality,” he said, firing up the panel, shaking his head at the primitive controls. On Alamo, this would be a three-dimensional hologram, and even on one of her shuttles, the display would be more sophisticated that this. All he saw was a confusion of jumbled dots, lines curling around them. A brief second of panic faded as he realized that his sensors were tracking a flight of birds a few dozen miles behind them, and shaking his head, he started to adjust the resolution.

 “Got something,” he said.

 “Seagull?” she asked.

 “Not unless it's found a way to boost to orbital velocity. I think I've got the gunboat, up in synchronous orbit, and if I'm reading this panel right, it's just lit its engine. Pushing for intercept.”

 “In how long?”

 Despite the seriousness of the situation, he still laughed, as he said, “Eleventy-twelve seconds, according to this piece of junk. Subject to updates, anyway.”

 Nodding, she dipped the nose, then pushed the throttle up again, taking the acceleration as high as they could tolerate. Below, green was replaced by blue as they soared across an ocean, occasional green and brown dots as they raced over island chains, and as they gained altitude, a bright glare of white from the north, the southern tip of the great ice cap that lay over the pole.

 “We'll be out of the atmosphere in one minute,” she said. “See if you can contact Alamo.”

 Pulling out his communicator, Cooper set the range as high as he could, ramping up the feed with total disregard for the battery life, and said, “Cooper to Alamo, come in. Cooper to Alamo, come in, please.” He glanced across, shook his head, and said, “No reply. I'll set it to automatic. Just keep gaining speed.” 

 Looking back to the sensor display, he frowned. As fast as they were flying, the gunboat had the advantage, and was inexorably heading towards them. He looked around the bridge, trying to find something that resembled an electronic warfare station, but there was nothing in evidence.

 “Damn it, we're too heavy,” Cantrell said.

 “Bit late for me to go on a diet,” Cooper replied.

 Shaking her head, she said, “The hold's full of cargo. All that heavy mass they brought on board is crippling our acceleration. We might outrun them if we can lighten the load.”

 Nodding, he looked around the panel, and quickly came across the cargo airlock controls, handled by remote from the bridge, He turned the activation key, a series of red warnings flashing on, the computer trying to politely tell him that he was about to do something he really didn't want to do. Reaching out for the controls, he paused.

 “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Dump it.”

 “Not yet,” he said. “Even if we do lighten, there's a good chance they'll catch up with us anyway.” He looked down at the panel, and said, “This isn't my field, but that doesn't look like much of a window of opportunity to me.”

 “One salvo will do more than enough damage,” she said, rapping the panel with her fingers. “Maybe if we cut the window tighter, it might make the difference.”

 “No,” he said. “Physical countermeasures will do the job.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

 With a smile, he replied, “You'll be getting drinks for this story for decades, Lise.”

 “You're crazy. I'm locked in a cockpit with a crazy man.” She glanced at her controls as a light winked red, and continued, “And we're now out of the atmosphere. Get it set up, and try and keep the timing as tight as you can. If this is going to work, it's going to be close.”

 “Still no response to our signal,” Cooper said. “I guess the gunboat must be jamming us. We'll have to get well clear of it.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, mercifully a United Nations piece, he said, “We're going to be tight on the Administrator's deadline, though.”

 “Set it up to broadcast automatically. I don't suppose there's any chance trying to get sense out of the gunboat, is there?”

 “If they could talk to us, I'm sure they'd have threatened us already.”

 As the curve of the planet fell away below them, the transport still boosting onto a random trajectory, swinging around the equator for maximum boost as the apogee of their orbit grew higher by the second, Cooper's eyes locked onto the single point that was running towards them, the gunboat that remained locked on an intercept course. He might be struggling to work out what the numbers beside the display meant, but he could certainly tell that they were growing shorter, the time to intercept getting closer and closer. 

 He glanced at his communicator, willing the signal to get through, to reach Alamo with the information they had to pass on. It wasn't just the people on the base that were in need of rescue, but the ones in the village, the massacred community, deserved justice. For those who perpetrated their crimes, and those who ordered them, to face the sentence they'd earned with their barbarous acts.

 “Getting close to escape velocity, I think,” Cantrell said. “I'm going to cut in a minute. If we go out of orbit we might end up anywhere in the system. For all I know we are already.”

 “Enemy ship closing, awfully fast,” Cooper said, shaking his head in frustration. “I barely understand these controls at the best of times, damn it.”

 “Just get ready with the cargo airlock release,” she said.  

 “I'm on it,” he replied, his hand poised over the controls. The gunboat moved in behind them, still accelerating, recklessly heading into the darkness. Cantrell reached over to the thruster controls, poising her hands to play the evasive action symphony, waiting for the missiles to fire.

 With no warning or fanfare, one dot became five, four of them speeding away from the gunboat, racing towards the transport. The gunboat moved away, the missiles fired at closest approach as it curved back towards the planet, still firing its engines, hoping for another pass in the event the first one failed. As the missiles tracked in, that seemed unlikely.

 The ship lurched around, Cantrell working the maneuvering jets as hard as she could, though far from trying to outpace the missiles, get out of the way, she was corralling them, driving them as close as she could to a single, incoming trajectory, lining up for a very final strike on their target. He looked at the controls, at the sensor screen, even up at the monitor in the impossible hope that he would see something useful, the starfield seeming to swing as the ship pivoted, the engine briefly roaring again to gain a trace more speed, a second more advantage.

 “Now!” Cantrell yelled, and his finger jerked down, the ship lurching forward as the air in the cargo bay escaped, sucking the contents out behind it, the particulate cargo forming a brief fan behind the ship. It was too much to hope that it would confuse the missiles for long, but the engine roared again, and the brief half-second of electronic interference as the warheads swam through the sea of mud and rock did the job, forcing them into the perfect position for the heat wash of the engine to run over them, melting them into slag.

 “That was close,” Cooper said, releasing the breath he hadn't known he was holding. “And the worst part of it all is that I don't have first idea just how close it was. I still can't read any of these instruments.”

 “Alamo to Cooper,” a voice said. “Receiving you loud and clear. Alamo to Cooper. We read you. If you can hear us, come in, please.”

 “That's more like it,” Cantrell said, and Cooper snatched up the communicator. 

 “Cooper here. Have you been tracking us?”

 “Affirmative,” Orlova said. “We have a good course plot.”

 “Good, because we're going to need all the astrogational data you can give us. Cantrell and I are on this ship alone, and we can only read half the instruments. How long before the deadline expires?”

 “We'll upload everything we can to Cantrell's datapad. The deadline expires in about six minutes from now. There's still no sign that anything is going to break the deadlock other than battle. I'd advise that you boost to escape orbit and try and sit it out. Lieutenant Powell is working on a course for you.”

 “I need a hook up, Captain, one that will punch through to every ship in the two fleets, as well as to every installation in the system. Alamo's done it once already, I know. Can it do it again?”

 There was a pause, and a different voice answered, “Weitzman here. I think so, Ensign, but we won't be able to hold the transmission for long, not if they try and shut it down.”

 “Trust me, Captain, once this message gets through, no-one who is watching is going to turn off their communicators.”

 “Gunboat's coming back around for another pass,” Cantrell said, looking over at Cooper's side of the console. “Best guess an intercept in seven minutes.”

 “If you could include our orbital friends in that transmission, I'd be very glad,” Cooper added.

 “Wait one, Ensign,” Weitzman said.

 “What have you found out, Ensign?” Orlova asked.

 “How many locals do you still have on Alamo?”

 “Three. Why?”

 “Have Doctor Duquesne take samples for DNA testing. If my hunch is right, you're going to need that information in the very near future.”

 “I don't suppose there is the slightest idea that you're going to tell me what all of this is about, is there?”

 “You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Captain. It makes me sick to my stomach just to think of it, but we've got to make sure everyone hears this, good and loud.” Pulling out a datastick, he slid it into his communicator, watching as the files fed into the system, ready for transmission.

 “And...that's it, Ensign,” Weitzman said. “You're on, but I think you'll only have a few dozen seconds.”

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper began, “I am the commander of the Espatier Force on the surface of Arcadia. A few hours ago, we learned that a secret group within the Council was conducting systematic massacres of the local population, the survivors of the Cataclysm, as well as abducting women of childbearing age for the purpose of extracting genetic material.”

 He stopped, looking at some of the images as they flashed across the screen during the data upload, and tears began to stream down his face as the horror began to sink in once again. Leaning forward on the panel, he struggled to continue.

 “These butchers massacred old men, women and children, and did it without a second thought. They attempted to wipe out my men when we found out about it. In the interests of humanity, if there is anything left of decency anywhere in this system, I call upon the people of the Council and the Coalition to stand together to call for those responsible to face justice for their crimes. Many of the criminals involved are in a freighter docked with the ground base right now. As for the rest, I presume you will find them on Skybase, or possibly in the military. A complete dossier of everything we know is attached to this message. Read the file, watch the footage, and let it burn itself into your mind, your heart, forever.” He shook his head, then said, “I guess that's all.”

 No-one spoke for a long minute, Cantrell finally looking down at the sensor screen and breaking the spell by saying, “Our friend is changing course. Going for orbital velocity, and as far as I can make it, is heading for the outer fringes of the system. I guess they've decided not to hang around for the trial.”

 “They'll come in sooner or later,” Cooper said.

 “Ensign,” Orlova's voice said, faint and distant, “Whatever else happens, we will do everything we can to see that those who committed these...atrocities face justice.” She paused, then said, “Hold your course for the moment. We'll link up with you when we can. Alamo out.”

 “Well, that's that,” Cooper said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Now I guess we find out whether they were listening. I just hope it did some good.”

Chapter 21

 Orlova struggled to keep her focus on the holotable, the images from Cooper's transmission still flooding through her mind. She looked around the bridge, spotting Mackenzie staring into space, his hands still, and stepped over to the engineering technician, shaking him on the shoulder.

 “Spaceman, I need you focused. If you can't manage that, call your relief.”

 He looked up, nodded, and said, “I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll do better. I just can't stop thinking about it.”

 Her eyes roving from station to station, Orlova said, “We've all seen something terrible, and I know that all of you are going to have a lot of sleepless nights as a result, but we've got a job to do, not least for the people who died in that village. Lieutenant Nelyubov, sound battle stations.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” he said. “Tactical to all hands. Stand by your battle stations. This is no drill. I repeat, this is no drill. Department heads report status to my station at once.”

 Slowly, the monitors began to flash from green to red, the crew scrambling to prepare the ship for combat. She hoped that it wouldn't be necessary, but if nothing else, it would at least serve to concentrate their minds, distract them from what they had seen. The elevator doors opened, and three figures stepped onto the bridge, Poltis, Kelgar and Trant. The Administrator was clutching his stomach, and wiping his mouth with a tissue.

 “I take it you've seen it, then,” she said, standing in front of them.

 Nodding, Poltis replied, “Captain, in the interests of humanity, I offer you the services of every member of the Coalition in bringing the criminals to justice. If it turns out any of my people were involved in anyway, I will see them brought to trial. Count on it.”

 “What about you, Kelgar?” Orlova asked.

 Glancing at Trant, he said, “I need to see it for myself, Captain. I cannot believe that any of my citizens have committed such atrocities, that anyone can have done something like this.”

 “We have records of nineteen massacres,” Powell said, “from the records on your own base. Would you like to see the photographs?”

 “No,” he said, closing his eyes. “Please, no. There will be a full investigation, and those responsible will be brought to trial.” 

 “Are you trying to say that you didn't know this was going on?” Nelyubov asked, turning from his station. “I find that hard to believe.”

 “I would never order, never permit such actions to take place. The thought that our genetic pool has been contaminated in such a way is truly abhorrent, and that it should have been done at such a price is far worse.” Turning to Poltis, he said, “You've done this, haven't you. Your agents in the Council, trying to discredit us, to destroy us from within. All of this is a trick. It must be.”

 Shaking his head, the Coalition leader replied, “You're clutching at handholds, Kelgar. My people don't even have any access to the surface. No craft capable of making a landing.”

 “So you say,” Kelgar replied. “Captain, there may be more to this than you know. I insist that a full investigation is carried out, and that Coalition records are examined for evidence of their complicity in this matter.” Looking around the bridge, he said, “After all, I would remind everyone here that the Coalition is the only power in this system to employ slavery, working their captives to death. We have never committed such acts as that.”

 “You can look at anything you want!” Poltis said. “How can you stand there, calm as that, when you know what your people have been doing in your name? I don't understand. Captain, we can work together to bring these monsters down, once and for all. With one order I can have our lasers deployed, and we can smash the gunboat fleet to pieces. Then together we can start to clean up this mess, and perhaps make some sort of restitution to the Arcadians.” Glaring at Kelgar, he added, “In a sense, I am as guilty as you are. I should have known this was happening, and done something to stop it. There were some reports, rumors of activities on the surface.” Shaking his head, he said, “At least it ends, and now. I want to talk to Vyram.”

 “Not for a moment,” Orlova said. “What do you say, Trant?”

 “This has the ring of truth,” the guard said. “Our population has been experiencing increasing levels of birth defects, inherited diseases, the result of a too-small genetic pool. I showed Ensign Cooper some of them.” At Kelgar's glare, Trant continued, “The truth must come out, sooner or later. The only group of the population that wasn't affected was the Council and their families. I think I can guess who benefited from these actions.”

 “I want to speak to Yorax,” Kelgar said, moving over to the communications console. “I need to make sure that the chain of command is secure.”

 Shaking his head, Trant replied, “Do you think that anyone will listen to you ever again? That message went to every receiver in the system. Everyone knows, Kelgar, and your secret is out! The only question is whether you will be lynched before you can stand trial.”

 Red-faced, Kelgar turned, and said, “I keep telling you all, I didn't know! I didn't know any of it, not at any time! If I had, I would have stopped it. I don't want mud-draggers contaminating our population. Why would I agree to anything like this?”

 “Ma'am?” Weitzman said. “I'm picking up a lot of communications traffic, between the laser base, the sailships, and the gunboats. Signals went through the roof after we sent that transmission, and if anything, they're growing in intensity.”

 Stepping over to the console, Orlova asked, “What are they saying?”

 “I don't know. They're using a new code. Chief Washington and her team are working on cracking it, but it'll take at least a few minutes to untangle.”

 “Three minutes to the deadline,” Nelyubov said. “Can we at least assume, Administrator, that you aren't going to be ordering an attack in the near future?”

 Kelgar curtly nodded, and said, “There will have to be a full inquiry before we can do anything. If this is true, then I will personally take great pleasure in ordering the execution of the guilty. However, I stress again that I want the evidence examined first by my own people. I still think there is a chance that all of this has been manufactured, that it is a Coalition trick.”

 “When are you going to wake up?” Poltis asked. “This changes everything. Captain, I'll agree to any reasonable deal, as long as it is clear that Kelgar and the current Council have no decision-making role now or in the future. I think it best that your people handle the inquiry. I'm willing to trust to their neutrality, and I'll allow full and unrestricted access to our facilities.”

 “You can't even get them to release Salazar and Harper,” Trant said.

 Shaking his head, Kelgar said, “I want someone shadowing your team, Captain, but other than that, I'm willing to go along with Poltis. You can have full access to our databanks, on the condition that you show complete neutrality.”

 With a sigh, Orlova said, “If at least we can get some sort of an agreement to peace between your peoples, then I suppose those people on the surface will not have died in vain. Order your ships to return to your respective bases, and my teams will begin the investigation at once. Poltis, I suspect it is possible that your team might be in more of a mood to talk, and Kelgar, if Tarak is working for you, speak to him.”

 “I will,” he said. “He did his work well, and will be rewarded.” Looking at Orlova, he said, “I want safe passage for him back to Skybase. He was a soldier, doing his duty, and should not be punished for that.”

 “He was a spy!” Poltis roared. “I don't think you are in a position to demand anything, Administrator.” 

 “Let's get this moving, shall we?” Powell said. “That deadline expires in two minutes, gentlemen, and I believe you need to give the appropriate orders to your crews to cancel the attack, before you commit yet another action that you will have cause to regret.”

 “The ships are moving into position,” Nelyubov said, glancing up at his monitor, “and I'm picking up signs of missiles readying for launch, target locks snapping on. All of them appear to be at battle stations.”

 Snatching the microphone, Poltis said, “Alamo to Sailship One. Stand down battle stations, and prepare for a return to base. I will be coming aboard in a few minutes with new instructions.” He looked down at the panel, and said, “Is something wrong?”

 “No, sir,” Weitzman said. “The message is getting through, but they aren't replying.”

 “Let me try,” Kelgar replied. “Gunboat One, come in. Yorax, I need to speak with you at once. Stand down and prepare for return to Skybase.” His voice rising to a shout, he raged, “Yorax, reply at once! This is the Chief Administrator speaking!”

 “Neither of them are going to reply,” Trant said, standing at the rear of the bridge. Somehow, a pistol had appeared in his hand, and he moved to cover the room as well as both entrances, standing next to the engineering station. “All of you remain where you are.”

 “What is the meaning of this?” Kelgar said. “You work for me. Put that thing away and consider yourself under arrest! Captain, I want this man taken into custody at once.”

 Shaking his head, Trant replied, “You aren't going to be giving orders any more.” He gestured at the sensor display, and said, “Those ships aren't going to be attacking each other. We decided some time ago, that the military organizations of the two powers were not going to allow what was left of our civilization to commit suicide.”

 “You're launching a coup,” Poltis said. “Overthrowing both governments.”

 “That is essentially the situation,” Trant said. “There will be unity in this system, and there will be peace. Both sides will work together for the common good, and I thank you, Lieutenant Powell, for the plan you proposed. Certainly elements of it will be undertaken.”

 Stepping forward, Orlova said, “What does this have to do with us?”

 With a sigh, Trant said, “None of this is personal, but you are the missing piece of the puzzle. We've been planning this for years, Captain, but the problem has always been convincing the local population of the necessity of our action, as well as obtaining the resource base required to save our people. You've already done one for us, and will now do the other.”

 “No wonder Yorax agreed for the Espatier escort of the freighter,” Nelyubov said. “You knew, and you wanted us to find out, to spread it everywhere!”

 “The Council had agents on every ship. Had we attempted to release it ourselves, we would have been caught, prevented from dispersing the information. As it stands, tens of thousands of people are screaming for the justice that we alone can provide.”

 “We don't negotiate with terrorists,” Orlova said. “I will not provide you with any of the technology you need. You might as well put that toy away.”

 “Captain, I ask for asylum!” Kelgar said. “They'll kill me out of hand.”

 “Coward,” Poltis replied.  

 “It doesn't matter,” Trant said. “None of it does.”

 Looking up at the sensor display, Spinelli said, “Captain, the two fleets are on the move, adjusting their orbital position. Looks like they are lined on Alamo, proceeding to a position of mutual support.”

 “We could be looking at a seventy-missile salvo,” Nelyubov added. “Even with our defenses at full, there's no way we could survive such a strike.”

 “In two and a half minutes, the maneuver will be complete. I'm the insurance policy, that's all. I'm well aware that you will have people rushing to your rescue, but every second you delay increases the odds in favor of my friends. All of them. We'll take what we can salvage from the corpse of this ship, Captain. Unless you choose to surrender, in which case I will guarantee the safety of your crew, and allow them to settle on Arcadia.”

 “The Fleet will return.”

 “And we will deny all knowledge of your arrival in this system, taking steps to ensure that there is no record of your visit. Any scraps of technology they detect can be written off in many different ways.” With a sigh, he said, “You have a hundred and thirty seconds to save the lives of everyone on this ship, Captain. I suggest you make your decision.”

 Taking another step forward, Orlova replied, “As I have already stated quite clearly, the Triplanetary Confederation does not negotiate with terrorists or hijackers, and it will be a cold day in hell before I agree to anything. You can attack my ship if you wish, but we'll give you a battle that will go down in history.”

 “This is insane!” Kelgar said. “You'll die as well.”

 Nodding, Trant said, “That was always part of the deal. If my death is what it takes to bring about the salvation of this system, then it doesn't seem like such a large price to pay, does it? I'm a serving officer, and sacrifice is nothing new to me. At least this time it is for a cause worth dying for. Ninety seconds, Captain.”

 Orlova looked at the images on the holodisplay, calculating in her head what was happening. Sergeant Gurung would have been alerted within seconds, but his force was dispersed throughout the ship. The elevator ride from the hangar deck to the corridor would take two minutes, and longer to make sure they covered all the exits. She looked at the control that would transfer command to the auxiliary bridge, but he had his eye on it as well, and shook his head. As far as she could work out, they would regain control of the ship about thirty seconds too late.

 “What do you want?” Kelgar asked. “I'll give you anything, anything you want!”

 “I want you dead, Administrator,” Trant replied. “And I'll be getting my wish in just a few minutes.”

 “No!” Kelgar yelled, charging towards the gunman. The pistol fired twice, blood gushing out of Kelgar's chest as the man staggered forward, crashing into Trant and sending him collapsing to the floor. Within a second, the doors opened, Corporal Stewart rushing in and securing the weapon, knocking him out with a quick injection into the neck.

 Hurriedly, the bridge crew returned to their posts, throwing switches and continuing the preparations for battle that Trant had interrupted. The enemy ships were still moving into position, sliding into formation for a salvo shot that would smash Alamo from the sky. Even if they missed, the laser under Tarak's control would finish them off.

 She looked down at Kelgar, dead on the floor, his face twisted into a terrified snarl. Poltis stepped over to him, running his hand over his face to close his eyes, then looked up at Orlova.

 “I guess he did something right in the end. Even if he was only trying to save his skin. Tell me the truth, Captain. Are we going to be joining him?”

 “Not if I can help it, Coordinator. And if we do, we're going to have a lot of company.”

Chapter 22

 The quartet raced through the corridors, sweeping around with scant regard for anyone who might overhear, fighting time as they sped to reach the laser control room before it was too late. This time, Salazar was just behind Valya, urging her to greater speed as she struggled to remember half-forgotten shortcuts, taking them through passages and down shafts that had not been used for years, occupied only by debris and vermin, spiders and rodents scurrying along the tunnels on errands of their own.

 “Twenty minutes,” Salazar said. “Only three minutes to go until the deadline. How much further?”

 “We're almost there,” she replied. “Just down the next shaft, and we're right on target.” She paused, then added, “There's a catch.”

 “Isn't there always?”

 “The shaft is a fifty meter drop, right down. Now in this gravity that isn't a problem, except that if there is anyone in the control room, they're going to hear you coming. And whoever goes first will be a sitting duck, easy target practice for anyone with a gun. No danger of hitting anything essential, these tunnels aren't used any more.”

 “I'll go first,” Salazar said.

 “There's another way. Just up the corridor is another passage, and that leads down to a storage room that I'm almost certain will be empty. It's further to go, and there almost certainly will be guards waiting, but someone can decoy anyone away.” She looked back at Salazar, and said, “Though I don't rate their chances of living through it especially high.”

 “Where's the second shaft,” he said.

 Pointing to a dark spot on the side of the corridor, she replied, “Right there.”

 “Pavel,” Valya said, reaching forward. “You don't have to do this.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You three all have skills that are needed. I don't. Relax, I don't do suicide missions. Keep an eye on the door, and wait for me to make it home.”

 With one last glance back, he dashed down the corridor, tumbling end over end down the shaft as he lost his footing, crashing through the brittle plastic hatch with enough noise to alert half the station to his presence. As he crashed to the deck, dazed, sirens rang out, loud enough to deafen him. Though the room was empty for the moment, the sound of rushing footsteps warned him that it would not remain so for long, and he struggled to stand, grabbing onto a nearby crate.

 The door slid open, and he charged towards it, arms reaching out, throwing himself at the man standing in the threshold. A pistol dropped to the deck, and he rolled towards it, snatching it from the floor and firing a pair of wild shots, the crack of the blast echoing around the hall. The guard dived for him, and with a swift kick Pavel pushed him away, sending him flying into the wall, staggering for position, before finally crashing down to the deck, unconscious.

 With no time to lose, his ribs aching from the fall, Salazar sprinted out into the corridor, looking around, waving his stolen pistol dangerously around.  The laser control room was four doors down, a guard still standing in front of it, and he raced towards it, screaming a battle cry, charging into the man. The door opened, and two more guards stepped out, pistols in hand, leveling their weapons at him. He dropped and rolled to the side as they fired in unison, returning fire with a shot that he knew would be ineffective.

 It was three guns against one, no-one having any time to get to cover, a standoff that Salazar was going to lose. With a wild scream, he charged forward, firing a blind shot that rattled off the wall, slamming into the nearest figure, bullets flying all around him. Somewhere in the melee, he heard the sound of another hatch opening, three doors up, but the noise was unheeded as the fight raged in the corridor, the guards grabbing at him, attempting to pin him to the deck.

 He managed to work his finger around the trigger, firing again, and one of the guards tumbled backwards, falling away, blood spilling from his arm onto the floor as he staggered towards the wall. The others hesitated for a moment, and he tackled another, sending him crashing against the floor, a loud crack from his arm.

 The last of the guards looked at him, his hands shaking, before turning to sprint away down the corridor. Salazar let him go, panting for breath, then heard footsteps echoing on the deck. He turned to see five more guards rushing towards him, led by Tarak himself, an angry grin on his face. He raised the gun to at least bring down the traitor, but pulling the trigger only resulted in a depressing click, and as he cursed the fool who had gone into battle without a fully loaded pistol, he set himself to meet the charge.

 A hand grabbed him on the back, dragging him away, and he turned to see Ortok, a pistol in his hand, taking shots at the approaching mass, sending them flying in all directions in a bid to seek the protection of cover, while Harper guided him into the control room, Valya already at the controls. Still keeping up his covering fire, Ortok continued to shoot until he ran out of ammunition, then threw the pistol away as he stepped inside.

 As Ortok locked the hatch behind them, Valya said, “We decided we weren't ready to give up on you quite yet. Besides, you've got the tactical training. We might know how to shoot, but you've got to tell us what to aim at.”

 Rubbing his aching hand, he replied, “What's the situation?”

 “Alamo is surrounded on all sides, sailships and gunboats. There's something strange, though. As far as I can tell, our ships and those of the Council seem to be moving into positions of mutual support.” She paused, then added, “Alamo's on the move, heading for a higher orbit. The other ships are responding, moving to pursue. They'll be in firing range in one minute.”

 “I can see what they are doing, but I don't quite believe it,” Salazar said. “As far as I can see, both of them are working together, getting into position for a single salvo, probably time-on-target. It'll rip Alamo to shreds.”

 “Is there anything they can do to stop it?” Ortok asked. “That much firepower?”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Not a thing. Even if they could get a full salvo into the air, take a shot with their laser cannon, they'd never take down more than a couple of dozen.” Looking at the controls, he smiled, and said, “What can we do?”

 “Wait a minute,” Ortok said. “We can't fire on our own ships.”

 Frowning, Valya replied, “There's a chance. I think we could knock down the missiles in flight, or at least render them inert. If I set the laser correctly, and we get a good shot, I think it would work.” Turning to him, she said, “Pavel, if I miss, I'll almost certainly hit Alamo.”

 “Can we contact them from here?” he asked, turning to Harper.

 “Hold on a moment,” she said. A rhythmic pounding sounded from the door, the guards outside recovered sufficiently to attempt to get in. He glanced at the metal, sizing up the design. They'd never get through with their hands alone, but as soon as they thought to deploy cutting tools, they'd lose the safety of their refuge.

 “Forty-five seconds to firing range,” Ortok said, moving over to the sensor screen. “I won't let you fire on our gunboats, but the missiles are fair game. I don't understand what is happening.”

 “It's quite simple,” Tarak said, his voice echoing through the room from the speaker. “The Council and the Coalition are no more. The military has taken control and will impose order and unity on the system. You all know that the politicians would never have compromised, would have argued away our final chance. Now we're going to make sure that we can better world, free of interference, and with the technology on Alamo, we'll be stronger than we ever were before.”

 “That's crazy,” Salazar said. “Why attack us?”

 “If Alamo doesn't return from its expedition, it might be years before another is sent. Time enough for us to rebuild, to become a power once again, one that can secure our future both here and among the stars. I'll make you an offer. If you surrender at once, I'll guarantee your safety, and give you safe passage down to Arcadia. You can live with the natives, breath fresh air, drink real water. That, or we'll have no choice but to kill you.”

 “Pavel!” Harper said. “I've broken through the interference. We have contact with Alamo.”

 “Make your choice,” Tarak said. “If you use the laser, all of you will die. Even if you shoot down the first salvo of missiles, there will be another, and another. Alamo is doomed. Why throw you lives away? Ortok, you're not one of them. What...”

 The engineer smashed his hand into the controls, turning off the communicator, and said, “I was getting sick of the sound of his damned voice. Let's get this done.” He moved over to the power distribution board, funneling energy into the laser cannon, while Valya lined up the shot, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

 “Salazar to Alamo,” he said, “Salazar to Alamo. Urgent!”

 “Alamo here,” Weitzman said. “What's happening?”

 “Get me the Captain. I can save the ship from the first salvo.”

 “Actual here,” Orlova said, “What's the story, Pavel?”

 “We've taken control of the laser, and I'm lining up a shot to knock down the missiles. Keep your evasive maneuvers low, make sure that you fly a straight-line course, and cross your fingers.” A curl of smoke came from the door, a loud whine that announced the arrival of a cutter outside. “And take full advantage of this. We're only going to get one shot.”

 “If this goes wrong, Alamo will be hit astern by seventy missiles.” She paused for a half-second, then said, “What the hell. We don't have a better plan on the table. Good hunting, Sub-Lieutenant. Alamo out.”

 “I wish she had come up with something better,” Valya said, running her hands over the controls, indicators showing the power build-up. “I've never done anything this fine before.”

 “I thought you said that this network was designed for missile defense,” Harper said.

 Nodding, she replied, “I also told you that it didn't work. Let's hope we can do better on the second try than we did in the first.”

 “Fifteen seconds to firing range,” Ortok said, tapping controls. “Combined fleet is moving into launch position.”

 Salazar turned to the door, the smoke beginning to billow out, a loud whine coming from the life support system as it struggled to cope with the contaminants in the atmosphere. He watched as the line slowly dropped down the side of the door, running with alarming speed. Drawing his pistol, red-faced with fury, he stood ready to fell the first person through, anything to buy some time.

 “Missile launch,” Ortok said, with a strange calmness. “Seventy-two launches, simultaneous, time-on-target. They've emptied every missile tube at Alamo.”

 “One more second,” Valya said, making fine adjustments to the pulse. “One more second.”

 The missiles sped towards Alamo, inexorably flying through space, building up into a huge wave of death that would shortly rain down upon the hull. Salazar attempted to imagine the damage that many impacts could cause, and shook his head.

 “Take the shot!” he urged.

 “One more second,” Valya said.

 “We're out of time, and they're dead either way. Take the damn shot!”

 Valya lightly tapped a control, and a thin beam flashed onto the sensor display, tearing and ripping into the approaching missiles, the pulse of energy burning out sensor pickups, communication arrays, guidance thrusters, and finally detonating the warheads one after another in a cacophony of explosions, brief flashes on the screen until all that remained was a fine screen of debris, Alamo easily pushing clear of the last trace of the enemy. As he watched, six more dots appeared on the screen, this time from the battlecruiser, heading back towards the fleet that had almost destroyed it. Now the battle would really begin.

 Before he saw anything more, the lights went dark, all the monitors died, the only illumination coming from the dull red patch on the door where Tarak and his men were burning through. He tossed his pistol away, the useless gun clanging to the deck.

 “I was expecting this,” Valya said. “I'm almost surprised we got that shot off before they thought of it.” Shaking her head, she added, “They must have had to knock out the whole level to shut us down.”

 “At least we got our shot,” Harper said, a smile creeping across her face.

 “It's over, Tarak!” Salazar yelled. “The first one through the door dies. Is that going to be you, or does someone else want to be killed for nothing today? Why don't we wait and see who wins the battle.” A murmuring outside suggested that his point was getting home. “Do any of you want to die for a worthless room and a broken laser?”

 He could hear shouting outside, and glanced around, adding, “If we lose the battle, we'll give ourselves up, and you can do whatever you want to us. If we win, well, that changes the whole picture, doesn't it.”

 “Very well,” Tarak said. “Have it your way. We'll let you know when your ship gets blown up, and then we'll finish the job.” Silence reigned as the cutter died, only a low murmuring as evidence of the crowd outside.

 “I guess we wait,” Salazar said, sitting down on the floor. “And pray.”

Chapter 23

 “He did it!” Nelyubov yelled, turning back from his station. “All seventy-two missiles, wiped out with one shot. Not even much of a debris field to worry about, and the blast was well clear of the hull.”

 “Don't celebrate yet,” Orlova warned. “They're still hard on our tail. Weitzman, contact Salazar and ask him if he can manage a second shot. Frank, fire at will, missiles only. Keep the laser charged, but I want to open up the range with that fleet as fast as we can.”

 “Ceasing evasive maneuvers,” Foster said from the helm. “Stepping up to full speed. I'm going to try and notch her past the red-line.”

 “At this rate we'll be out of firing range in seventy-one seconds,” Spinelli said.

 “Long enough for another salvo,” Orlova replied. Alamo rocked as the missiles raced from the tubes, turning back towards the approaching ships, Nelyubov carefully monitoring their progress as he guided them in.

 “I can't raise Sub-Lieutenant Salazar, ma'am,” Weitzman said.

 “Try the other ships again,” Poltis said, looking at the tactical display. “They've got to see sense at some point, stop this attack. Without the element of surprise, they'll be smashed to pieces.”

 “Still nothing,” the communications technician said, manipulating his controls. “I can't get any response from anyone. They must be receiving us, but they aren't listening.”

 “If we gain enough speed, that might not be a problem,” Powell said.

 Orlova looked at the tactical display, watching the missile tracks lance back towards the ships to their rear. Both the sailships and the gunboats had moved into a tight formation, slowly falling away as Alamo accelerated past them, gaining speed faster than they could. The warheads danced back towards their targets, gathering velocity with every second, the enemy ships unable to turn in time to prevent an impact.

 Stoically, Poltis watched as two of his sailships were struck amidships, the blast of ruptured decks and escaping atmosphere tossing them around, their sails a hopeless tangle. Three gunboats suffered hits, Nelyubov expertly guiding the missiles into the rear sections, wrecking their engines and sending them falling out of the formation.

 “I'm sorry,” Orlova said, looking at the politician, who somehow looked twenty years older than he had when he first came on board. At the rear, Trant, still in the grip of two of the Espatiers, looked on, unable to stop watching the horror that was unfolding on their screens.

 “You're doing what you have to do,” Poltis replied. “It's some sort of sickness, a disease that has infected our people. Maybe it will only burn itself out when the last one of us dies.”

 “They're still coming hard,” Spinelli said. “Not even stopping to launch rescue shuttles. From what I can guess, we've crippled five ships, but we've still got twelve on an intercept course.”

 “They have time to fire again,” Trant said. “Make no mistake, we will still win this battle. All that you are doing is delaying the inevitable.”

 “Why, damn it?” Orlova asked. “Why do this?” 

 “Second salvo ready to fire, ma'am,” Nelyubov said. “We'll still be in range for another forty seconds.”

 “Let them fly,” she said. “Prioritize the gunboats over the sailships. With one of the lasers disabled, the Council ships are a greater threat than the Coalition vessels.”

 Alamo rocked again, six more missiles racing into the void, slewing around as they locked onto their targets in the approaching flotilla, now diminished. Even as they were, they could still launch forty-eight missiles at Alamo, more than she could ever hope to withstand, more than they could knock down. Hooke frantically stabbed at his electronic warfare console, desperately trying to hack into the enemy systems, but it was a futile gesture. Hard enough to break through the computers of a hostile power with a shared technological heritage, impossible when the cultures had divided at the stone ax and fire level.

 “Energy spike, all enemy ships!” Spinelli said. “Missile launch, full salvo, forty-eight warheads bearing directly.” Looking across at another monitor, he added, “One minute, twenty seconds to impact.”

 The words resounded grim finality, and Nelyubov replied, “Our second salvo will hit their targets five seconds sooner. I can have another salvo ready in the time. Maybe we can try fratricide.”

 “Not at that range, not that many missiles,” Orlova said. “What's that going to do to our aft section?”

 “Rip it into pieces, along with the rest of the hull,” he answered, shaking his head. “Not even any point launching escape pods or shuttles. They'll never get out of the blast radius in time.”

 Poltis sighed, and said, “Perhaps it is better that I die here, now. I don't think I want to live to see the sort of world these people will create.”

 “We're not dead yet, Coordinator,” Orlova said. “Weitzman, can they hear us over there?”

 “They can't be missing us, ma'am.”

 Snatching up a headset, she said, “This is Captain Orlova to the ships in the pursuing fleet. In about seventy-five seconds from now, you're going to destroy the last, best hope that your system has for a lasting peace. Even if you do salvage worthwhile technology from the ruins of this ship, how long before you start to fight among yourselves for the scraps once again.” 

 Turning to face the holodisplay, the tracks of the missile trajectories steadily converging on Alamo, she continued, “In the process of destroying this vessel, you will lose at least four, possibly six more of your ships. Ships that you are vitally dependent on for resource transfer, without which your people will starve, die of thirst. Our laser could destroy another.”

 With a deep breath, she continued, “You might be willing to let your people suffer for your greed, your arrogance, but in all good conscience I cannot make the situation any worse than it has to be. I am ordering that our missiles self-destruct. I call upon those of you in the fleet to undertake the same action, and note that your leaders must have known about the atrocities on the surface, by the admission of the agent they sent on board this ship.” She glared at Trant, who looked down at the deck. “Should you decide to destroy my ship anyway, at least this way, your people have a slender chance of survival. But that's what this was all about, wasn't it.”

 Turning to Nelyubov, she said, “Destroy our missiles. That's a direct order.”

 He nodded, tapped a button, and replied, “Done.”

 The missiles winked off the display, leaving only the incoming salvo from the fleet, moving to smother them with impacts, taking a little more time to avoid the same mistake they made last time. The blows would smash into Alamo's hull in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but twisted wreckage where a proud ship once sailed through the heavens.

 “I'll say this, Captain,” Poltis said. “You've got guts. I'm not sure I could have found it within myself to be so generous.”

 “Forty-five seconds to impact,” Spinelli said. “If anyone is interested, that is.”

 Sitting back in his chair, Nelyubov replied, “Not really, Spaceman.” Turning to Orlova, he added, “It feels strange, just sitting here and watching them close in.”

 Hooke turned, panic on his face, and said, “I can't crack them, Captain. I can't!”

 “Don't worry about it, Spaceman. You did your best. You can stop now. No need to die all tensed up.” Orlova took a deep breath, looked around the bridge, and said, “It has been an honor, and a privilege, to serve with each and every one of you.” Stepping over to the helm, she rested her hand on the console, looking at the viewscreen, the image of Arcadia, lost and lovely, dead center in the starfield whether by accident or design.

 “Twenty-five seconds,” Spinelli said. “Sorry.”

 “Hard habit to break,” Weitzman said. Then he glanced at a monitor, and said. “Communications traffic just went off the scale between the two sets of ships. Lots of contact with the flagship. I can't understand a word, but they're working themselves up over something.”

 Hope began to flood into Orlova's mind as she turned to face the tactical display, watching the missiles curve in, slowly ranging towards their target. Alamo continued to gain speed, pulling further away, and if by some miracle they survived the first impact, she knew that the pursuing fleet wouldn't get a second chance to strike.

 The seconds continued to count down, one after another, as the warheads continued their approach. Soon their debate would be irrelevant, the cold logic of celestial mechanics ending any chance of appeal. Looking around, a bitter sense of regret filled her as she looked at her crew, still working to the end. They deserved a better fate than this.

 “Detonation!” Spinelli said. “Twenty-four missiles just detonated. Most of the Coalition, one ship from the Council.”

 Orlova watched as the display flashed, half of the missile tracks disappearing. Then eight more, this time all from the gunboats, and a smile began to creep across her face as she turned to Nelyubov.

 “You can fire that third salvo now. Defensive formation only. Weitzman, contact the fleet, and make it clear that we will only fire to defend ourselves from attack. Send them the targeting data.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” he replied, as the bridge erupted into life. The formation was changing behind them, only three ships continuing to press their attack home. Four more of the missiles vanished from the screen, quickly replaced by six new warheads launched by Alamo, Nelyubov guiding them towards their targets. The loss of most of the incoming missiles had totally disrupted the attacks, leaving huge gaps and tight clumps. While the enemy gunners hastened to alter the approach trajectories, the Triplanetary missiles were faster, and with a series of brief explosions, the screen was clear once again, a few patches of slowly expanding debris the only remnant of the destruction that had threatened the ship.

 “Change in target aspect,” Spinelli said. “One of the gunboats is moving off at full burn. The rest of the fleet is coming about. I think they're trying for a parking orbit around Itix.”

 “Signal from Vyram, ma'am,” Weitzman said. 

 “This I want to hear,” Poltis said, moving to stand next to Orlova.

 The squadron commander's face appeared on the screen, and he said, “I guess you really did mean what you said, after all. The Combined Fleet will move into a defensive position over the base, and instructs Alamo to stay clear of the moon until further notice. We will participate in the peace negotiations as an independent body.” Looking at Poltis, he said, “You might find us more willing to cooperate than the politicians were.”

 “You are relieved of your command,” Poltis said, coldly, glaring at the veteran soldier. “Place yourself under arrest, and place...”

 “Don't you understand, yet?” Vyram said. “We're not going to fight your wars for you any more. We're not going to sit around and watch as the remnants of our civilization tear themselves apart for petty feuds. Captain, do you agree to my terms?”

 “What about Yorax?” she asked. “Where does he stand in all of this?”

 “I don't know. He's on Gunboat One, heading for the outer system, and isn't answering our communications. Believe me, after we saw those messages from Arcadia, we wanted to talk to him.”

 “Very well, I agree.”

 “What?” Poltis said.

 Turning to him, she replied, “I don't think we have much choice. Right now, we've got bigger problems.”

 “Ship launch!” Spinelli said. “The transport is taking off from the surface. Early to tell, but I think they're heading along the same trajectory as the two gunboats.”

 “Let me see,” Poltis said, moving over to the holodisplay. “Carion. They're heading for Carion.” Turning to Orlova, he said, “An abandoned base in the outer belt. There are supplies there, mothballed equipment, enough to last for a couple of years. It was meant to be our last refuge in case all else failed.”

 Nodding, Vyram said, “If he makes it there, we can't get to him, but he'll be able to raid our ships for as long as he wants. We'll never be done fighting.”

 “Options?” Orlova asked.

 “They picked an excellent place to hide,” Powell said. “That's a triple-asteroid, and a lot of tumbling debris around it. Their ships are small enough to get through, but taking Alamo inside would be a very different proposition. I'd be reluctant to risk it.”

 “Can we catch them sooner?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “We can't, but Cooper can.” Pointing at the image of the transport, he said, “They've got most of the velocity and are close to the right trajectory. If they move now, they can go for an intercept.”

 “Cut off the head, and the body dies,” Poltis said. “Yorax is the only one they have with the experience to lead that sort of a fight.”

 Turning to Orlova, Nelyubov said, “You realize what you'll be asking Cooper to do.”

 She nodded, and said, “There isn't any choice. I'll make it volunteer, but I know what he'll say. Weitzman, open a channel.”

Chapter 24

 “You want us to do what?” Cantrell said, looking up at the monitor in disbelief.

 “Alamo can handle the guidance systems from here,” Orlova said. “You can concentrate on the boarding action.”

 Cooper sighed, and said, “Just to get this clear, you are asking me to launch a two-man strike on a combat vessel at battle stations, unarmed and unarmored, with no advance preparation.”

 “We've got deck-plans for you,” Orlova replied, “and I understand that there is a weapons locker one deck down.” She paused, and said, “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't ask this, but we've only got one shot to stop the murderers before they get away. If they can get to Carion, it'll be next-to-impossible to stop them. Which will almost certainly mean that they will escape justice.”

 Nodding, Poltis said, “I won't agree to a deal, but when I am replaced for allowing them to attack my shipping, I suspect my successor will. Ensign, if you do this, you'll have the gratitude...”

 “I'll do it,” Cooper said, turning to Cantrell. “Are you up for this?”

 “I think this is the craziest stunt I've ever been involved in. Of course I'm up for it.”

 “Initiating course change,” Orlova said. “Better strap down. You're going to be pulling five gravities for a couple of minutes. Hang on.”

 The two of them hastily threw on their restraints, snapping the connections into place, lying flat on the crash couches as the engines roared, pushing them onto a new trajectory, sending them hurtling after the gunboat. Dumping their cargo had made their mass ratio far more favorable, and now they could outpace the enemy craft, draw in closer to it.

 Cooper fought to steal breaths as the pressure built up, an unbearable weight loading on his chest as he struggled to remain conscious. He heard a soft cry from Cantrell, but didn't even dare turn his neck to see how she was faring. All he could do was try and focus, try and keep breathing, and try and live through the fierce acceleration. He was Mars-born, and this was fifteen times the gravity he grew up in. Training or no, he fought desperately to remain awake, struggling to keep his eyes open, the darkness closing in all around him.

 A painful whine filled the air, his head pounding as he looked around. The pressure was gone, and to his left, Cantrell was lying, slowly coming around. He tentatively reached up to the console, tapping the communications control.

 “Stop that damned noise!” he yelled. “My head is about to explode.”

 “Thank God,” Orlova said. “We've been trying to wake you up for fifteen minutes.”

 Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and replied, “What's our status?” 

 “Your course correction was right on the nose, and you are heading right for a clean docking. You'll be in missile range in two minutes, but only for thirty seconds. Your wife is at the controls here, and she's going to slam you into a hard dock.”

 “Two minutes and thirty seconds until boarding?” Turning to Cantrell, he shook her, softly at first, then roughly, a groan escaping her lips. “Wake up! Duty calls.”

 “Wha?”

 “Boarding in two minutes. I'll go and get the guns.” He suddenly felt awake, alert, and looked over at the atmosphere systems. Someone had fired a pulse of pure oxygen into the room, instantly clearing his head, and Cantrell pulled off her restraints, dragging herself to her feet. Cooper raced down the corridor behind the bridge, sliding down the ladder to the next level, and immediately spotted the weapons locker, the door flapping open as he approached.

 “Useful having friends in high places,” he muttered, looking over the weapons, a mix of the familiar and the alien. He ignored the local rifles, not even wanting to guess how the sights worked, or where to load the ammunition, and went right to the familiar United Nations loadout, the M-78 Colonial Carbine. Hefting the familiar weapon, he shook his head. When this was taken out with Wayfarer, it was brand new, just coming into service. Now it was a museum piece, only retained by a few third-line militia forces struggling on low budgets. He slammed a clip into position, jammed as many others as he could find into his pockets, and tossed another M-78 to the approaching Cantrell.

 “That's the best they've got?” she asked.

 “Bullets kill, no matter what they're fired with,” he replied. “Bear in mind that this is higher-velocity than the guns you are used to, so there's more of a kick, and you need to choose your targets carefully. This couldn't breach a hull, but it could certainly make a mess of anything on the far side.”

 “What about the rest of these,” she said, gesturing at the armory. “Most of them look newer.”

 “I really don't want to be trying to work out where the trigger is during a firefight. Stick with Old Reliable here. She's still a pretty decent weapon.”

 “Cooper?” Orlova said, her voice echoing through the corridors. “You'll be in missile range in thirty seconds. We're going to use the airlock on your deck, down at the far end, so you'd better get down there.” She paused, then added, “There isn't going to be time for any evasive action. If they launch...”

 “We get hit, and don't have anywhere to retreat to,” Cooper said. “This is just getting better by the moment, Captain. Remind me to let you plan my next vacation.”

 Grabbing a suit of body armor that looked at least close to the right size, he quickly raced over to the airlock, stumbling in the variable gravity as the ship launched into its deceleration cycle,  and tugged the old, musty vest over his head, sliding it into place. Cantrell shook her head, already wearing hers, slapping the shoulder in disgust.

 “I already feel like I need a shower. And I can hardly move in this thing.” She raised a hand, then added, “I know, I know, I need it, but I wish we had something better.”

 A light flashed on, the trajectory display showing on the nearest monitor. Cooper hung onto the nearest handhold, watching as they approached, the ship desperately slowing down to match velocity with the gunship. Belatedly, it occurred to him that another approach would simply have been to ram them.

 A trio of dots appeared on the screen, heading right for them. Desperation or fear, but they'd managed to get a salvo away. Cantrell shook her head, swearing under her breath. At this range, the shrapnel was bound to rip into their target as well.

 “Brace for impact,” he muttered, knowing there was nothing they could do. The missiles were going to hit, would almost certainly irreparably damage the ship, and if one of them hit the section they were currently in, they would die. He hefted his rifle, a grim smile on his face. Even if they made it through, they'd be in combat in a matter of seconds.

 The ship shook, angry grinding noises running through the hull as the missiles slammed into the side of the vessel, ripping and tearing as they went, the atmosphere leak tossing them wildly around. He could feel air escaping, and blast doors slammed down all around him, sealing off this section.

 “There's still a leak,” Cantrell said, glancing at the telltales. “We're dead in three minutes.” 

 “We won't be here in three minutes,” Cooper replied.

 With a loud crash, the two ships locked, airlocks connecting as the docking clamps slammed into position with a series of rhythmic thumps. Raising his gun as the two hatches open, Cooper sprinted into the corridor, a pair of guards charging in the opposite direction. Four shots cracked through the air, one of the guards dropping to the ground, blood draining from his leg, while the other raced for it. Looking down, Cooper saw Cantrell on the floor, struggling to move.

 “Damn armor,” she said, thumping it. She winced as Cooper helped her up, adding, “I think I cracked a rib.”

 “Can you move?”

 “Do I have a choice?”

 Cooper took the lead as he moved down the corridor, the hatches slamming shut behind them, sealing off their only way out with grim finality. Either they took control of this ship, or they were dead. No other options existed. Alamo was racing towards them at top speed, but unless they could arrest the gunboat's acceleration, it wouldn't be able to catch them in time to do any good, if at all.

 He turned a corner, firing at the retreating guard, catching him in the shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor. If his memory of the deck-plan was right, this should take him right to the bridge. Glancing back, he saw Cantrell struggling after him, walking with a limp, grim determination on her face.

 “Don't get any ideas,” she said. “I'm still mobile.” 

 The two of them continued down the corridor, waiting for signs that someone was coming after them, but reached the blast doors that accessed the bridge without further interference. For form's sake, Cooper tapped the control, but the panel didn't even light up. Someone had cut the wires, then pulled out some of the components to make sure it couldn't be repaired.

 “They've holed up,” he said. “Locked themselves into the key rooms, then sealed them off.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Good strategy. They've got all the time in the world to get rid of us when they get to their destination, assuming they haven't already started to turn down the air pressure.”

 “What now?” she asked. “We can't just sit here and let them take us prisoner.”

 Looking at the door, he said, “Only one way in. There has to be an answer.” His face lit up, and he moved over to the nearest panel, dragging Cantrell with him. “This is United Nations technology. Can you hack it?”

 “I think so,” she said. “I can't access their navigation systems, though. Even if I could, I wouldn't be able to change course.” She looked at the coding, and said, “This is just housekeeping stuff.” 

 “Set off the decompression alarm on the bridge.”

 She turned to him, nodded, and said, “I should be able to do that. What if they realize it's a trick?”

 “Then we'll just have to try something else. Set it up.”

 He looked around, stepping into the nearest door, someone's quarters. No bed, but there was a desk, and an experimental tug revealed that it was only attached to the floor by a pair of bolts. Sliding into position, he started to twist them loose, straining at the rusty metal as it slowly spun around.

 “What are you doing in there?” Cantrell asked.

 “Furniture removal,” he said. The first bolt came free, and he started on the second, the old material finally snapping, the desk moving out across the floor. He dragged it into the corridor, toppling it on its side, sending bits and pieces of accumulated junk rolling down the deck, then crouched behind it, lining up his rifle.

 With a sigh, she said, “I'm ready.”

 “Hit it,” he replied, and she tapped a button, a loud squeal sounding through the air, a whining, familiar alarm. Years of training told him to run for the nearest shelter, find a rescue ball, some means to survive, but he stayed in position, Cantrell moving by his side, leveling her gun.

 The hatch slid open, and he immediately opened fire, dropping the first technician at the threshold, his body jamming the doors in position. Half a dozen people dived back behind stations, returning fire with pistols and rifles, the bullets smashing at the plastoform desk, sending splinters and fragments flying through the air.

 Behind him, he heard voices and footsteps, reinforcements on the way, and he leapt over the desk, firing two bullets into the nearest crewman before sprinting forward, shots ringing out all around him as he weaved from side to side. Something snagged at his leg, a hand reaching for him, and he tumbled down, spinning around and shooting at his attacker, sending him flying back to the wall with the force of the bullet.

 Above him, Yorax raised his rifle, but Cantrell was faster, taking down the old man with a bullet perfectly positioned between the eyes. He looked baffled for a moment before collapsing onto a console, then sliding onto the floor.

 As if by some strange mutual consent, the fighting ceased, and Cooper climbed to his feet, looking at the demoralized crewmen all around him. He moved to cover the room and the corridor while Cantrell stepped over to the control station, throwing a series of switches that brought the acceleration to a halt.

 “I've transferred command functions to Alamo,” she said. “We'll be on our way back to Itix in a couple of minutes.”

 “It's over,” Cooper said, looking around. The body of Yorax lay cold on the deck before him, still clutching his pistol, the rest of his people resigned to their fate. “It's all over now.”

Chapter 25

 The second round of negotiations were profoundly different from the first. Not least the setting. This time Orlova had managed to insist that they hold it on the surface, out in the open, a table placed on a carpet of green grass under a blue sky, near a trickling blue stream. Truly neutral ground, considering Alamo's role in the recent battle. Perhaps more importantly, most of the faces were new. Poltis had been joined by Valya, the attempted revolution resulting in a swift promotion for the engineer, and the Council was now being represented by Ortok and a heavily-bandaged Naxos, the only two people that the screaming masses of Skybase could agree on.

 A third side was represented as well, Vyram and a tactician named Hilgar speaking for the Combined Fleet. Orlova suspected that silent Hilgar was only there to make up the numbers, but thus far, Vyram had more than made up for his comrade's reluctance to talk. She glanced to her left, half-listening to Doctor Duquesne's presentation, outlining the medical technology Alamo could provide, to at least start to repair the genetic damage that ten generations of inbreeding had caused.

 “If this is as you say,” Ortok said, “This seems to solve a lot of our problems.” He sat back, looking around, shaking his head. “You haven't told us what your price is for the transfer of all of this technology.” He looked down at a list on the table, tapping the points one at a time. “Hydroponics systems, technical manuals for survival training, ground-side equipment and clothing, improved communications hardware.” Shaking his head, he said, “Tell us the price, and I guarantee the Council will pay it.”

 “Two-fold,” Orlova said. “The first is simple. The right to free passage through your system for any Triplanetary ship.”

 “You could have that without asking,” Vyram said. “Even if you didn't want to bother swatting aside our ships, there are plenty of other ways in or out of the system.” Folding his arms, he said, “Trade monopolies, military bases?”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Oh, I'm certain that you'll be seeing some of our corporations in the near future, but we're not demanding anything. I hope and expect that you will find treaties and commercial agreements with the Confederation of use in the future, but we're not here to conquer you, we're here to help.”

 “And the second thing?” Naxos asked.

 “Peace.” She looked around, and said, “You need to end this dispute. I don't demand that you form one unified government. I know that is a lot to ask. I do insist that you sign a peace treaty that you can all live with.”

 Nodding, Powell added, “You have all seen our projections. If anything, the situation is more precarious than it already was, with the loss of a quarter of your space-lift capacity. Now you truly have no choice. You must work together, or die.”

 “I think the forces that were driving us apart are gone,” Poltis replied.

 “And as for a government,” Ortok added, “I'm not sure we've got one at the moment.” Turning to Naxos, he asked, “Who exactly do we represent today?”

 “The Provisional Governing Council,” the guard replied. “It's just words. Meaningless. Ultimately, bringing back this technology and the new medical techniques, anything reasonable that we bring back will be accepted.” He looked across at Vyram, and asked, “What's the Fleet's position?”

 “We will not fight. It is as simple as that.” Glancing around the table, he continued, “None of us have any stomach for war, not any more. We've done enough fighting for a dozen lifetimes.” A smile crept across his face as he continued, “A peace treaty is a moot point. No one in this system has anything left to fight with.”

 “Then you will turn over Itix to the Council?” Ortok asked, rage beginning to spread on Poltis' face.

 “The Coalition...”

 “Gentlemen!” Orlova said, slamming her gavel on the table. “The Fleet will stay in control of Itix until such a time as a unified government forms to take possession. We've come so damn far. Are you really going to tear it all down over that?”

 “We're going to need more water than the Coalition,” Naxos said, quietly. “We cannot agree to an equal split.”

 “That's reasonable,” Valya said, earning a glare from Poltis. “Perhaps a better approach would be to look to the future. Allow us a ten percent share of the ice mining for the moment, and permission to build a new mine of our own elsewhere on the surface, using the current base to speed the construction.”

 “I'm not sure you have the resources for that,” Powell said, shaking his head. “It's an ambitious plan.”

 “We're space-born, Lieutenant. It's in our blood.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Though sitting down here on the surface is tempting.”

 “I agree. Our future is in space,” Naxos said.

 With a sigh, Powell said, “I think I'm going to have to go over my projections again. You have no future as a technological civilization in space alone. Even working together in perfect harmony, you have not got the resources to sustain your population. Over the course of the next twenty years, you will need to rebuild every colony and outpost you have, including Skybase. Itix is about the only one that could last longer.” Sitting back on his chair, he said, “With a maximum population capacity of four hundred and ten. Where do the rest go?”

 “Your government...” Vyram began, but Orlova interrupted.

 “I thought you wanted to preserve your independence?” she said. “Besides, while I'm certain we will maintain contact, we're a long way from our bases, our trade routes. I doubt the Senate will approve the sort of rebuilding project you are talking about, not when you have an inhabitable planet that can support you all.”

 Glancing at Ortok, Naxos said, “Forgive us, Captain. None of us have ever lived on the surface of a planet. Just sitting here in the open air without a suit is requiring a level of self-control that I didn't know I possessed.”

 “We cannot give up space,” Poltis said, bluntly. “Not after everything we have fought for. It would be nothing short of a betrayal of our ancestors.”

 “I'm not asking you to,” Powell replied. “Maintaining one, or two installations in space is an excellent idea. Itix, for example, and perhaps an installation in the outer system to support mining. Hubs for economic expansion and trade. It's all in Appendix B of my outline.” With a deep breath, he said, “But all of it is dependent on the bulk of your population moving to the surface. Either you do it today, and maintain a level of technological sophistication, or you do it in thirty years as starving savages.”

 Nodding, Orlova added, “Not to mention that there are hundreds of thousands of people on the surface, your people, all of them struggling in primitive conditions. In three or four generations, you can bring them up to your current level, then start to progress beyond that. Have starships of your own, start to colonize your system on a sustainable basis. Finally make the dreams of your ancestors come true. Isn't that worth fighting for?”

 “It's been too long,” Naxos said. “We just don't have any common ground. Not to mention the atrocities our people carried out down here.” Shaking his head, he looked at his feet, and said, “I just don't see how we can find a connection.”

 With a smile, Orlova pulled out her communicator, and said, “Ensign, it's time.”

 The hatch of the nearest buggy popped open, and Cooper stepped out with Reana walking beside him, nervously looking around at the delegates, still clutching her spear to her side. Cooper had a hand on her shoulder, a smile on his face, and a datapad in his hand.

 “What is this?” Poltis asked.

 “When we captured the base,” Cooper began, “We obtained a vast quantity of medical data, taken during the genetic raids that the Council launched on the planet. That included records of DNA.” Looking at Naxos, he said, “What you did down here was a very brave act.”

 “I just did what had to be done,” the guard said, blushing. “Anyone else would have done the same. I couldn't just stand there and watch her being killed.”

 “Of course not,” Cooper replied. “She's your sister.”

 His eyes widened, and he said, “That's impossible. I'm an only child.”

 “Your father must have had more pull with the Council than you thought. You were produced using genetic material taken from Reana's mother, who was later returned to the surface.” Glancing down at the wary girl, he said, “It must have taken her years to get over it, but twelve years later, she managed to give birth to this little lady.”

 “I don't believe it,” Naxos said, eyes wide.

 “I can show you the data if you want,” Cooper said. “Does it matter?”

 “There's your connection,” Orlova pressed. “We've found a hundred and nine people up in space who have relatives here on the surface. Some of them even live in the Coalition now, defectors from the Council. You don't have to go back ten generations to find that link, gentlemen. These are your sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews. Are you really going to abandon them now, as you did once before?”

 Naxos rose from the table, walked over to Reana, and knelt down on the ground in front of her, saying, “No. I don't think we can.”

 “It's not going to be as easy as that,” Poltis said, looking at the scene. “We'd have to establish a ground installation, some sort of colonial outpost. That's going to take years.”

 “Days,” Orlova said. “All the designs for prefabricated buildings are in our database. Alamo will make a gift of a small village to you, right here. I had my people run a full survey yesterday, and the ground is ideal. You'll start with a site capable of supporting a hundred and fifty people. The rest will be up to you.”

 Poltis looked at Ortok, nodded, and said, “It's a big step.”

 “The important decisions are never easy, Coordinator. This is one that you have to take.”

 “We'll do it,” Naxos said, turning back to the table. “I'll come down. I'll stay. I'm sure we can find volunteers.”

 “I still think our future lies in space,” Vyram said, “but I suppose I can't argue with the establishment of an enlarged outpost down here, to see how it might work in practice.”

 “We'll have to discuss the details,” Poltis added. “I think we might come up with something. We've got a lot of thinking to do. At least we can get started now.” He looked down at the draft treaty on the table, then said, “I'll sign.”

 “And I,” Ortok added. “Vyram?”

 “You need to ask?” the veteran replied. “We're going to have to make a show of this, aren't we.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “My staff are already preparing for a ceremony up on Alamo. I rather hoped you would come to this decision today. A shuttle will be ready to take you up in an hour.”
 “I'll stay down here,” Naxos said, looking at Reana. “I've got some catching-up to do.”

 “I think we can manage without you,” Ortok said with a smile.

 “Then, gentlemen, the meeting is adjourned,” Orlova said, slamming her gavel on the table one last time. As the delegates dispersed to head back to the buggies, she walked over to the stream, Powell by her side, looking down at the trickling water.”

 “I'd hoped for more,” she said.

 “It's a start.” Powell replied. “With more than a hundred people down here, they'll start to tell their families, start to put down roots, and the trickle of immigrants will become a flood. When the next generation grows up, this will be the frontier everyone wants to explore. They'll have a hard time finding people to stay up in orbit.”

 Looking over at Naxos, talking quietly with Reana while Cooper protectively looked on, she continued, “You know if what those bastards did provides that sort of human connection, something to bind these people together, it might at least give it some sort of meaning.”

 “This civilization fissioned into too many factions,” Powell said. “It's past time they all got back together.” Looking up at the sky, he said, “What's next? Are we going home with the good news?”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “We've still got a mission to accomplish. Their wandering through space is almost over. Ours has barely begun.”

Thank you for reading 'Triple-Edged Sword'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj

Copies of the cover, and other work by the artist, are available as prints at http://keithdraws.deviantart.com/gallery/  

Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Forbidden Seas, coming in April 2016…

Table of Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25