Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27

PYRRHIC VICTORY

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 21

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #21: Pyrrhic Victory

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: September 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.

Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

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

Fellow citizens & compatriots—I am besieged, by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna—I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken—I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, & our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat.

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

William Barret Travis

Lt. Col. comdt

Chapter 1

 Lieutenant Pavel Salazar lay on his bunk, watching the stars slowly slide through space as his ship drifted into position. A winding tentacle of rock drifted past, a sign of a minute course correction from the bridge to keep them in the shade of the asteroid ahead, a shield to block any scans from ships entering the system. It wouldn't protect them for long, only a matter of minutes, but hopefully long enough to give them a chance to flee the system.

 Retreat.

 He ran the bitter word around his mouth, as though ready to spit it out onto the deck. Three months ago, he'd fled Copernicus Colony, pulled out of Alamo with wounds that almost killed him, leaving most of his crew-mates, his comrades, back to face the theoretical mercy of the Xandari. His eye itched, as it always seemed to when he thought of that battle, and he reached up with a finger to scratch, cursing as he reached the eye-patch for the hundredth time.

 There had been no way to save his eye. All Doctor Duquesne could do was remove the tattered remnants, and hope that at some point she'd have the equipment to provide him with a bionic replacement. Until then, it was the eye-patch. With a deep sigh, he reached over to the communicator, fumbling in the dark for the switch, unwilling to raise the lights.

 “Salazar to bridge,” he finally said. “Any sign?”

 “Nothing, skipper,” Spaceman Spinelli, a fellow exile from Alamo, replied. “Everything's quiet.”

 Glancing at the clock, Salazar said, “We've got an appointment soon, haven't we?”

 “Scheduled departure was two hours ago, sir.”

 “Keep watching, Spaceman. We'll wait a little while longer. Salazar out.”

 Command of a ship. Something he had begun to aspire to, a potential goal for the future. This wasn't what he'd had in mind. He looked around the unfamiliar lines of the cabin, still strange and alien after all these weeks, and shook his head. Random Walk was a Neander ship, designed by a people who were human – almost. With enough physiological changes that the light was too dim, the air too cold, a strange tang in the background he couldn't quite get used to.

 At least most of the controls were familiar. The ship had been badly damaged in their first firefight at Copernicus, then took more during their escape, a skeleton crew fighting it clear of the system. By the time they had regrouped after the fight, he'd recovered sufficiently to take command, more out of a general assumption than any specific decision. They'd patched the ship together with anything they could find, mostly scavenged from Daedalus.

 He glanced at the holoimage on the wall, taken just before they'd left. Lieutenant Kristen Harper looked down at him, the trace of a smile on her face, her uniform battered and beaten as ever. She was somewhere out in space at the helm of her own ship, on a mission similar to his. Picket duty. Watching and waiting to gather intelligence about the Xandari, hoping they could think of some way to turn disaster into victory. After three months, neither of them had come up with anything. Not yet, anyway.

 At least he'd be seeing her again in a few days, back at the rendezvous point. Always assuming that Daedalus wasn't a tumble of ruined debris in some forgotten system by now, destined to wander through the universe forever, a helpless speck of dust in the infinite void. He shook his head, trying to dispel his fears, knowing that they would remain until he saw her again, held her in his arms again. She could take care of herself, probably better than he could on the basis of past performance, but he couldn't help worrying.

 Rising to his feet, he reached for his uniform jacket, tossing it over his shoulders as he walked out into the corridor. He was spending too much time in his quarters as it was, alone with his thoughts. There just wasn't much else to do. Theoretically, he should be working on battle strategies, trying to conjure the miracle they would need to turn the war around, but his mind refused to focus. There had to be some way to beat them, something he hadn't thought of, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of it.

 “Captain?” a voice said from behind him. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to see Arturo Lombardo, his Systems Officer, walking down the corridor with a burned-out conduit in his hand. “I was just coming to see you, sir.”

 “That still sounds wrong,” Salazar replied. “You say that, and I keep waiting for Captain Orlova to reply. Or Captain Marshall.”

 With a shrug, the engineer replied, “Unless they've stowed away somewhere, you're the only commander around. And as far as I'm concerned, that's not a problem.” He paused, then added, “Remember Phaeton?”

 Memories came flooding back, strange beasts racing through the corridors of his mind, and he replied, “How could I forget?”

 “You saved us then, sir, and you'll save us now. I have faith, even if you don't. We'll get through this, one way or another.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar answered, “I hope so, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Making a face, Lombardo said, “That's going to take a very long time to get used to.” Waving the conduit in the air, he added, “We lost another section of the power distribution net.”

 Salazar sighed, and said, “How bad is it this time?”

 “Long-range communications, aft sensors, auxiliary reactor. I've got Bartlett and Itzel working on it, but it's going to take a while to fix. Most of the components are buried deep in the hull.”

 “How long?”

 “Twenty-four hours, working around the clock.” Shaking his head, he said, “There's not much I can do, I'm afraid. Throwing more bodies at the job wouldn't work, even if we had them to spare. It's a two-man job, and I've got the best two working on it now.”

 “Keep at it, Art,” he replied. “What about the rest of the ship?”

 “She's held together with duct tape and prayer, Skipper, and I'm all out of duct tape. One hit in the wrong place would finish us for good.” Tapping the hull, he added, “She's doing the best she can, sir, but there's only so much we can ask of her. So much we have any right to ask of her.”

 Salazar's communicator squawked, and he tugged it out of his pocket, flipping it open and saying, “Go ahead.”

 “Bridge here, sir,” Spinelli said. “We're getting signs of dimensional instability at the near hendecaspace point. Slowly building, but confirmed. I'd say we're three minutes away from company.”

 “Damn. Go to battle stations, Spaceman, and call the alert crew to the bridge. I'll be up in a minute.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied. An instant later, a siren rang through the corridor, a blaring klaxon calling the crew to their posts. Without a word, Lombardo raced away, heading to his duty station, and Salazar started in the opposite direction, making for the bridge. He tugged out his datapad, salvage from lost Alamo, scanning the tactical situation as he walked, shaking his head at the combat status display. Random Walk was a good ship, but a warship she wasn't, not any more.

 “Watch out, sir,” Lieutenant Ryan said, stepping out of a door, almost walking into him. When the Copernican government had switched sides, they'd left him stranded, abandoning him to his fate. He conspicuously wore a plain jumpsuit, only his old rank insignia pinned to the shoulder.

 “Sorry, Mike. Something wicked this way comes. You heading for Auxiliary Control?”

 “Such as it is.” He smiled, and added, “As things stand, it's more likely a systems malfunction would put me in charge than battle damage.” He paused, then said, “You're sure you want me down there?”

 “I trust you,” Salazar said, clapping his hand on Ryan's arm. “I don't care what your father did. We've fought together. I trusted you then, and I trust you now.”

 “I won't let you down,” he replied. “I just want one good crack at those bastards.”

 “You'll get your chance. We all will. Good luck.”

 With a nod, Ryan ran down a side corridor, heading for the improvised Auxiliary Control, a few spare panels thrown into an empty storage unit. In a dire emergency, he might be able to get the ship away, but Salazar didn't want to test it. He looked after him for a second, at the fierce determination in the man's steps, and shook his head. Ryan had lost everything, his home, his family, even the uniform he wore, and he was still standing tall, ready to fight on. Something to be proud of.

 He climbed up the ladder at the end of the corridor, rising to the bridge, and slid into his command chair, looking around at the rest of the crew. Spinelli and Weitzman at their usual places, the sensor and communication stations, just as they would have been back on Alamo. Midshipman Maqua at the helm, the young shuttle pilot he'd rescued back at the start of this mission, now a seasoned veteran with a dozen battles of experience under his belt.

 Scrambling after him, the sullen Hooke dropped down in front of the countermeasures station, muttering under his breath as he brought the defensive systems on-line. He was good at his job, one of the few talented hackers they had left, even if he did have an attitude problem the size of a small moon.

 “Dimensional instability growing, sir,” Spinelli reported. “Resolution's lousy, though. I'm having trouble getting a clear image.”

 “Power failures in the aft sensors,” Salazar replied. “Work with what you have, Spaceman.”

 “We're certainly getting used to that,” Hooke complained. “Everything's functioning at my end.”

 “Tactical systems on-line,” Sub-Lieutenant Foster, his tactical officer, added. “All launch tubes ready.”

 “Let's hope we don't need to use them,” Salazar said. “Midshipman, I presume you have a best-speed course to the hendecaspace point plotted and ready?”

 “Updated every half-hour, sir. Course is already on the board, ready to execute at your command.”

 With a smile, Salazar replied, “Excellent. Hold on that until I give the word. If the bastards are finally making an appearance, we've got to get as much information out of them as we can. Any idea on the size of the incoming ship, Spinelli?”

 “Ships, sir. Estimate two, one similar to us, one larger. Capital ship size.”

 “Damn,” Foster said. “They're bringing in heavy reinforcements. That'll give them three capital ships at Copernicus. A strike force large enough to smash right through everything we have left and take Testament Station.”

 “First ship emerging!” Spinelli said, and a blue flash appeared on the viewscreen, briefly winking into existence. “Heavy Scout, Tango-Class in our database. Approximately equivalent to Random Walk, sir.”

 “If we were in a good state of repair,” Hooke added, sotto voce. “Four missile tubes to our three, and if just one of them...”

 “What about the other ship?” Salazar said, interrupting the disgruntled crewman.

 “One minute minus, sir.” The sensor technician paused, then added, “The Tango is executing a search pattern. Checking for anything in the immediate area.” He turned, then said, “They're bound to pick us up soon, Captain, but I'd say we have a few minutes before they spot us.”

 “Let me know…,” Salazar began, but before he could finish his order, a warning light flashed on over Spinelli's station, and a second disruption began to appear, this time at the far hendecaspace point. “Is that what I think it is, Spaceman?”

 With a resigned nod, Spinelli replied, “Dimensional instability at the other egress point, sir. Similar to the first ship, at a guess. I'd say it's a second Tango.”

 “Trapped,” Foster said. “They've found us. Recommend we head out of the system at once.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “They had no way of knowing that we were here, Major, Even if they had a spy on board, he had no way of passing on his information. Whatever this is, we aren't the goal.” Rising from the chair, he looked at the tactical display, and said, “We hold until the large ship arrives. That's what all of this is about, unless I miss my guess.”

 “Any second now, sir,” Spinelli said. “Here we go.”

 A second flash appeared on the screen, and a ship tumbled out into normal space. Salazar's eyes widened as he looked at the new arrival, the viewscreen automatically flicking to maximum magnification. Despite the blurred image, he knew what he was looking at well enough that he could have recognized it, no matter what the resolution.

 “Alamo,” Weitzman said, transfixed on the screen. “But...”

 “They've repaired her,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “Fixed her up, and taken her into their fleet.” Rage filled his soul, and he looked at the tactical display, determined for a brief second to take his ship into battle, to attempt to avenge her capture, but a cold analysis of the situation told him that it was hopeless. Alamo belonged to the Xandari, and one broken-down scoutship wasn't going to change that. Not yet.

 “Trying to get data, sir,” Spinelli said. “It's tricky at the range. She's still got some damage, but I can't tell where. There's a power buildup in the laser cannon, though. That much I can see.”

 “Meaning the ship must be all but operational,” Maqua said from the helm.

 “Intercept course, Midshipman,” Salazar said, sitting back in the command chair. “I want to get as close to Alamo as you can, then out to the near hendecaspace point.” 

 Wide-eyed, Maqua replied, “That's going to be hazardous, sir. They'll have plenty of chances to swat us out of the sky, especially...”

 “I'm aware of that, Midshipman, but we came here to gather information, and that's just what we're going to do. Alamo is the most powerful part of their fleet, and if we're going to destroy it...” He paused, conscious for a moment at his words, then continued, “If we're going to destroy it, we have to know if there are any weak spots. Execute course when ready.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Setting missiles to defensive screen,” Foster said, shaking her head. “I recommend we fire a salvo at the extreme limit of combat range, have them fly alongside. Then a second salvo at closest approach.”

 “Do it, Major, and if you get a target of opportunity, by all means take advantage of it. Spinelli, we're only going to get one shot at this, so get as much data as you can.”

 “Will do, sir.”

 “Course ready, Captain,” Maqua said. “Implementing now.”

 Random Walk's engines roared into life, the acceleration rising to maximum, trajectory plot changing as it began to lumber out of the system. She gathered more speed with every second, but the enemy were fast to react, spotting her within an instant, moving to intercept courses. Salazar glanced across at the tactical display, and smiled. The newly arrived ship on the far side of the system was holding position, assuming that he was trying to feint them away. Not a bad tactic, but he didn't have any intention of using it this time. The first ship was moving towards them at full speed, again assuming that he was trying something clever, some trick to avoid combat.

 None of them could believe what he was doing. Rather than trying to stay away from the most powerful ship in the system, he was diving towards it, racing at full speed into range of the devastating weapons in her arsenal. As he watched Alamo slowly grow in the viewscreen, he couldn't quite believe that she was on the other side, Xandari crewmen at the familiar stations on the bridge, ready to use every means at their disposal to destroy Alamo's exiled crew.

 “Beginning data run,” Spinelli said. “Hooke, you'll have a window...”

 “I know, I know, I'm doing my best,” the hacker said. “At least I should be able to see if they've made any serious modifications.”

 “Watch your heading, Midshipman,” Salazar warned. “If that laser lights in our direction, we don't have a chance in hell. Evasive course as soon as we're in range, and keep it unpredictable.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied, working his controls like a master, light taps on the thrusters to send them from side to side, keeping their trajectory locked onto their target while dancing through the stars to ruin any potential shot. Salazar watched as the tip of Alamo's nose darted around, trying to lock onto them, and shook his head. In the past, he'd been the one trying to line up a shot, not the one attempting to evade. It still felt wrong, and he half-expected Weitzman to turn with a report at any second, Captain Orlova on the channel, ready to bring all of this to an end.

 “Firing range in ten seconds,” Foster said. “We'll be in the hot zone for sixty-five.”

 Salazar nodded, watching the viewscreen with morbid fascination as they swept closer to his ship. The two Xandari scoutships, at least realizing that they had guessed wrong, swung around in an attempt to catch them, but they couldn't make it in time. Only Alamo herself stood between them and the hendecaspace point.

 “Here we go,” Maqua said, redoubling his efforts at the helm, while the battlecruiser swung around, trying to draw a bead on them for the millisecond required to fire the laser, to unleash multi-megawatts of death into their side. Random Walk rocked as the missile salvo raced clear, moving between them and Alamo, and within a few seconds, the enemy launched in response, three for three, lined up for mutual destruction.

 “That's strange,” Spinelli said. “I'm not picking up any problems with the other launch tubes.”

 “Maybe the combat fabricator?” Hooke asked. “No sign of changes to the outer firewall, but they've scrambled it enough that I can't get in from here.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Ten seconds with a terminal...”

 “Coming up to closest approach,” Maqua said.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled, as a beam flashed past them, missing Random Walk by a matter of meters, a wasted shot blazing into infinity. A second later, Alamo flashed past, almost close enough to touch, before receding into the distance behind them. “Clean miss, sir.” A trio of explosions flashed across the screen, the missiles canceling each other out. With every second, the odds of their survival increased, the difficulty of launching an attack growing ever greater.

 “Second salvo away,” Foster said, three new tracks flashing onto the screen, dropping away as Alamo began to fall back, Random Walk diving for the safety of the hendecaspace point. “I think we've made it.” 

 Salazar waited for a few seconds, then nodded, replying, “Secure from battle stations, but maintain standby alert. Midshipman, you have the call.” Turning to the rear, he asked, “Spinelli, I want a full report on everything you've collected before we leave hendecaspace.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 As the ship sped out of the system, Salazar knew he should have felt jubilant, that once more they had managed to escape death. Instead, he felt nothing but despair as the realization hit home. The only way they could win, could beat the Xandari and liberate Copernicus, would be to destroy Alamo. A ship that had become his home.

 And unless he could think of another way, he'd have to pull the trigger.

Chapter 2

 Even at night, the forest never slept. Ten thousand creatures scurrying around, hunting for food, water or shelter, struggling to survive until the dawn. Lieutenant Gabriel Cooper was no different, just another animal fighting for life in a hostile environment. The cry of an owl screeching in the darkness, caught his attention, and a smile crossed his face.

 Thousands of years ago, all of Earth was like this, empty wilderness where scattered humans roamed. Out here, dozens of light-years away, some unknown race had created a copy of that world, seeding it with life harvested in that forgotten epoch. Now he was following the tracks of a city those aliens had built, long ago destroyed in some apocalyptic war.

 He glanced down at his watch, then reached for his canteen, taking a deep swig and looking around for the rest of his strike group. Half a dozen of them had ventured into the night on this mission, all taking different paths to their target. If they were doing their job right, he shouldn't be able to see them, and he had no means of contacting them that wouldn't expose him to hazard. It was all too easy to imagine that he was the only one out here, alone in a hostile wilderness.

 There were few landmarks to follow, just the occasional chunk of rubble from the ancient city, a few paths used by the larger predators. Not many people had ever ventured into this forest, even though it was only a hundred miles from the city, and after spending months living here, he could understand why. To a people accustomed to life in an artificial environment, the idea of walking outside without even a respirator was strange enough, but the sounds and the smells of this wilderness were almost overwhelming. And that was without the signs of unimaginable alien life, twisted pylons rising to the sky, overgrown for centuries.

 A branch cracked, and he froze in position, reaching on instinct for his pistol. A pair of eyes gleamed at him from the darkness, before scurrying away on some errand. Just another creature, wandering through the night. Shaking his head, he took another drink from his canteen before replacing it at his belt, and continued down the narrow trail, careful to make no noise, leave no trace of his presence.

 Somewhere overhead, drones were watching, waiting for them to break cover. Here, in the forest, the canopy was too thick for them to be easily detected, and even if they had been spotted, there was little the Xandari could do about it. Sending a force into the forest would have been a gift to the Resistance, weapons, supplies, possibly recruits if he was sufficiently persuasive. Short of an orbital bombardment, they were safe here.

 Unfortunately, that worked both ways. Unless something could be done about the drones, there was no way they could leave the forest, not without being picked up. That just left the few settlements on the fringes of the forest, logging and hunting communities, all fiercely independent and all under the watchful thumb of the Xandari.

 He pulled out his datapad, one of the few technological relics he had salvaged in their flight to safety, and skimmed through the signal they had received again, the transcript flashing up onto the screen. A simple call for help, from one of the villages that had provided them with supplies in the early days.

 Another noise filled the air, this time artificial, the roar of engines overhead. He crouched down, peering up in a vain attempt to see what was causing it. A helicopter, almost certainly, and Xandari operated. At least he knew that they were getting close to their target, though that also meant they were entering an area of greater danger.

 Something within him urged him back, to the safety of the denser forest. As strange as it seemed, this place was beginning to feel familiar, the swarming life around him a comfort. The canopy was thinning out overhead, the distance between the trees increasing. He glanced to the left and saw markings on a tree stump, recently cut. Civilization beckoned, with all the dangers that represented.

 Sliding his pistol into his pocket, he reached for his rifle, hefting the familiar weight in his arms, and quickly checked the communication, making sure he had a fresh clip loaded and ready. Not that they had many of those to spare, the Xandari being rather less than helpful in providing them with resupply. In the early days, they had sent in a few patrols, hoping perhaps to defy the odds and stumble across the escaped rebels, but those had long since ceased as the reality of the strategic situation hit home.

 The village lay ahead, and he crept through the trees at the perimeter, looking into the nearby houses for any sign of life. All of them seemed empty, and a sick feeling began to creep into his stomach, but he pushed on, keeping low to avoid detection. He could hear voices from up ahead, orders being issued, and as he crept forward, he found the missing villagers.

 Posts had been raised in front of the church, and men were being led to them by uniformed soldiers, all of them under the supervision of the Xandari. Children cried in the crowd, held by their mothers as they watched the nightmare that was about to unfold. Taking a deep breath, Cooper raised his rifle to position, carefully lining up a shot at the nearest Xandari, knowing that he would have only one chance to cause the chaos that would save their lives. All he could do was hope that the rest of his team was out there, ready to move.

 The crack of his bullet echoed through the night, catching the Xandari in the neck, sending him collapsing to the ground. His second bullet felled the nearest Copernican officer, blood bursting from his chest as his dying body twitched. Then the troops reacted, a hail of bullets flying towards him, wild shots that smashed windows and ripped into wood, Cooper hurling himself to the ground in a bid to escape the fire.

 Another shooter opened up from the right, one of Cooper's squad, and while most of the civilians ran for cover, one of them charged towards the posts, a knife in his hand, risking his life to free his friends. Shaking his head, Cooper looked around, picking off a guard before he could kill the would-be hero, a stream of bullets ripping through the ground to his right, mud flying into the air all around him.

 Cursing under his breath, Cooper crawled to his feet, charging forward into the mob, firing not to kill but to panic, the discipline of the soldiers collapsing to blind panic as they tried to find cover, tried to rally. Anyone attempting to give orders made themselves a target, two other shooters firing from the night, and the lesson was quickly understood as the enemy forces scattered, a group of them racing down the road, out into open country.

 Overhead, the noise of the engine returned, and he looked up to see a helicopter heading their way, searchlights flashing through the darkness, trying to pick him out. If this was a trap, then it had been well and truly sprung, but Corporal Walpis stepped calmly into the open, the Neander somehow escaping instant death, with a missile nestled in his arms. He lined up the shot as machine guns erupted all around him, and a flare of light flashed across the settlement as the missile raced to the helicopter, engulfing it in a ball of flame that rippled to the ground, burning debris raining into the forest.

 As if as one, the Copernican soldiers raised their hands, the loss of their aerial cover ruining any chance they had of winning the battle. Cooper stepped forward, glancing up at the ubiquitous drones that were recording everything, transmitting the news of the failed attack back to Kepler City, where doubtlessly the traitor government and their alien overlords would prepare some sort of counterattack. For the present, they had carried the day, but they would only have a few moments to savor their victory.

 The rest of his squad emerged from cover, weapons raised and ready, in case some of the captured soldiers decided to commit suicide. Cooper looked around the village, shaking his head. One of a dozens scattered between here and Kepler City, a mixture of prefabricated buildings dating from the original settlement of this planet and those made of local materials, painstakingly pieced together over the decades.

 “Keep them covered, Corporal,” Cooper said, gesturing at the soldiers. “Strip them of anything we can use. Weapons, rations, medical supplies, anything.” Turning to Specialist Donegan, he added, “See to the wounded. Of both sides.”

 One of the freed villagers walked towards him, rubbing his hands, his face vaguely familiar. He looked at the captured soldiers, then at Cooper, a smile on his face.

 “Frank Moretti,” the man said, holding out his hand. “I run the General Store.”

 “Lieutenant Gabriel Cooper. You're the one who sent the message,” he replied, shaking the preferred hand. “I'm glad we got here in time.”

 “So am I,” he said with a smile. “What happens now?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “I think we both know the answer to that question. They'll be back, and with reinforcements, and soon.” Turning to Walpis, he said, “Find the senior survivor.”

 “I guess that's me,” a gruff man said, looking around at the angry crowd. “Corporal Harris. You killed our officers.”

 “Murderers,” a woman holding a baby said, spitting at the ground. “They deserved everything they got, and more besides!”

 “We were following orders,” Harris began.

 “And what where those orders?” Cooper asked.

 “Our information was that this village was providing supplies to rebel forces hiding in the forest. We were to set an example...”

 “By killing the population?” Walpis said, shaking his head.

 “Only the leaders,” Harris replied. “Treason is punishable by death, and all of those captured have been lawfully tried and found guilty.”

 “At a trial we were not permitted to attend,” Moretti said. “One we only learned about when you arrived.”

 “Shoot the bastards!” the woman yelled.

 “No!” Cooper said. “If you want to kill these people, then you'll have to get through me.”

 “They were going to kill...”

 “And if we do the same, if we kill without provocation, then we're no better than they are, and we might as well switch sides and join them. If we're aren't better than those bastards in Kepler City, then this war is pointless!”

 “You killed my men,” Harris said.

 “In battle,” Cooper replied. “To save the lives of innocent civilians. Don't make any mistake, Corporal, I intend to see that you pay for what you were going to do, but you'll be tried properly by a war crimes tribunal once the war is won, not by a drum-head court martial today. You'll have your day in court.”

 Private McBride, scanning the horizon, said, “Something just launched, I think from the city. Helicopter, correction, three helicopters. We're going to have company in twenty minutes minus.”

 “And this time they won't be content with killing a few people. They'll burn the village to the ground,” Walpis said. “Any survivors will be shot out of hand.”

 Turning to the crowd, Cooper said, “You heard that, I take it. Everyone is to gather together anything they can carry, food, clothes, tools, medicines, weapons, and prepare to move out. I can guarantee the safety of anyone who comes with us, but anyone who stays behind will almost certainly be dead within the hour.

 The woman stepped forward, her baby wailing, and said, “And you're defending the men who did this?”

 “Vengeance won't save your life, ma'am, nor that of your children. We've got a settlement in the deep woods, and you won't be the first group we've rescued.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We've got to move, and quickly, or the decision will be taken out of your hands. You'll be walking for a few hours, so don't take anything too heavy, and don't take anything you can live without. McBride?”

 “Sir?”

 “Help them out.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Don't worry, Lieutenant,” Moretti said. “I'll get them moving. And don't worry about us. We've been living from the forest all our lives. We'll find our way.” Glancing at the soldiers, a mixture of fear and hatred on their faces, he asked, “What about them?”

 Walpis gestured at a heaped pile of weapons and equipment, and said, “I think I've just about got them cleared out, sir. I left a couple of medical kits for the walking wounded. All communicators confiscated and deactivated.”

 “Good. Donegan, what's the story?”

 With a sigh, the medic replied, “Not too bad for the civilians. One dead, and I think that was a heart attack, and a few minor injuries. They should be able to walk out of here.” Looking at Harris, he added, “Nine dead soldiers, six injured seriously enough that they'll need better medical attention than I can give them.”

 Nodding, Cooper pulled out his pistol, aimed it at Harris, and said, “I'm not going to bother asking for your parole, and I'm not going to waste any words on you. Get your men out of here. When that airstrike arrives, I don't think they'll care whether you're down here or not. If you want my advice, you'll head down the road as fast as you can.”

 “If you'd give me a communicator...”

 “Then that airstrike will be far too accurate for my liking, I suspect. No communicator, no signaling. As for your wounded, you're in command. They're your responsibility.”

 One of the troopers shook his head, and said, “We can't do anything for them, Hal. Let's just get out of here, while we still can.”

 “No, Private,” Harris said, fixing his subordinate with a glare. “Get three doors. We'll carry them out on those. I'm not leaving anyone behind for the firestorm.” Turning to Cooper, he said, “There will be another time, Lieutenant, and the next time you won't be so lucky. I can promise you that.”

 “Words are cheap,” Walpis said, the Neander flashing a beaming smile.

 “We'll see,” Harris replied. “We'll see.”

 As his men wrenched the doors from the nearest home, sliding them under the wounded as the first group made their way down the road, a runner sprinted down the road in the hopes of contacting friendly forces before they could open fire. Moretti walked over to Cooper, a rucksack over his back, shaking his head.

 “Was that wise?” he asked.

 Gesturing at the column as it moved out, Cooper replied, “All of those men will go back to the barracks and talk about what happened here today, that they were taken by surprise, then freed without reprisal. That'll make the next group to head out this way a little more reluctant, and a lot more likely to surrender.”

 The two of them watched as the villagers loaded their lives onto their backs, scrambling to rescue treasured possessions and essential equipment, the wail of children mingled with the cursing of their parents. A family trooped across the field, each of them carrying a pair of chickens, the youngest clutching a squabbling cockerel, and Cooper shook his head with a smile. Someone was thinking ahead.  

 He glanced down at his watch, and said, “Hurry up, everyone. We need to move out! Corporal Walpis, lead the way. McBride, forward scout! Let's go!”

 Reluctantly, the convoy walked into the forest, a hundred glances back at the homes they were abandoning, knowing that they would never see them again. Cooper waited at the rear, watching for stragglers, until the last of the civilians had cleared the danger area. If he was right, they had only a few minutes to go, and he could see the gleaming lights of the helicopters closing in, hear the faint whirr of the engines in the distance.

 He quickly walked through the village, taking one last look around, and saw a discarded doll on the floor, sprawled in the mud. Gently, he reached down, picked it up, and stuffed it in his bag, shaking his head. This wasn't fair. None of these people had done anything wrong, and they were going to pay the price for his resistance. Five villages so far, and more to follow.

 With a sigh, he turned for the trees, walking back into the forest, anxious to gain as much distance as he could from what was about to follow. Only the dead soldiers were left to inhabit the town, and as the noise of the engines increased, he knew that they wouldn't have long to wait for cremation.

Chapter 3

 Harper hesitated outside the meeting room, knowing that everyone was waiting for her inside, but still reluctant to enter herself. She looked down the long, empty corridors, the station deserted aside from a handful of Neander technicians. Everything had fallen apart so quickly after the Battle of Copernicus, the Consortium forces never even making it to the rendezvous, the Koltoc returning to their homeworld for a long argument with their government.

 She'd never wanted responsibility. Commanding a subordinate ship in a squadron was bad enough, but there had always been someone to fall back on, Captain Orlova in the background to get her out of whatever mess she'd found. Now it was down to her, Pavel, and a bare handful of people on two antiquated ships to save the day. At least he'd finally made it back.

 Her communicator chirped, breaking her reverie, and she pulled it out of her pocket, replying with a curt, “Go ahead.”

 Sub-Lieutenant Scott, her second-in-command, replied, “Two Koltoc ships just jumped into the system, Captain. Profitable Venture and a ship we don't have in our records. Colonel Kilquan sends his complements, and would like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

 “That's great, Kat,” she said. “Have him come down on the double.”

 “Will do. Daedalus out.”

 With renewed confidence, she stepped into the meeting room, Salazar walking over to her with a gloomy expression on his face, the despair in his eyes threatening to drag her with him. He reached out to her, holding her in a desperate hug while Major Molpa and Lieutenant Ryan tried not to look.

 “It isn't good news, Kris,” he said, looking down at her.

 “The Koltoc are back,” she replied. “Maybe that gives us more of a chance.”

 Glancing at the others, their expressions matching his, he replied, “The Xandari have brought Alamo back into the line. Under their command.”

 Her mouth opened, and she said, “Are you sure?”

 “I managed a flyby close enough to get a nice, long look. Far too long. As far as I can tell, they've completed full repairs. There didn't seem to be any defects, and all combat systems were operational.” He signed, then added, “I think the only reason we got away was because they wanted us to. They're hoping we'll cut and run.”

 “We can't,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “We can't just abandon Copernicus to those bastards.”

 “Your government switched sides, Lieutenant,” Molpa said, bluntly. “Your legally elected President decided to stake the future of your people on the Xandari. I don't like it any more than you do, but...”

 “She doesn't speak for the people,” Ryan replied, desperation in his eyes.

 Harper glanced at Salazar, and as the two of them took their seats, she added, “We spotted half a dozen freighters, all under a tight enough convoy that we couldn't get close. All heading for Copernicus, which makes it a pretty safe bet that they're preparing for another attack.”

 “They are,” Colonel Kilquan, commander of the Koltoc squadron, said, stepping into the room. “Our latest intelligence reports that the Xandari have repaired two of their battlecruisers, as well as a number of smaller vessels. The only possible target is Testament Station. If they can capture it, then they'll have the ability to project power in strength all the way to your border.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “That sounds about right. That was their target before, and it makes just as much sense now as it did three months ago. All we've done is slow them down, not stop them.” Looking up at Kilquan, he said, “They've managed to make Alamo operational.”

 “Three battlecruisers, then, one of them the most powerful capital ship for parsecs.” Kilquan shook his head, looked at Ryan, and asked, “Are you here as a formal representative of your government?”

 “He's here as my second-in-command,” Salazar said, “As well as a representative of the Copernican Democratic Underground.”

 “Then you've had contact with resistance forces?”

 “They'll be fighting,” Ryan pressed. “Those cowards in Council House don't speak for our people. All over the planet, our citizens will be taking up arms to push those bastards of the planet. You can depend on that, Colonel.”

 Shaking his head, Kilquan asked, “How can we? It was the treachery of your leaders that cost us the battle in the first place. We almost had the Xandari beaten, and if they hadn't switched sides...” He paused, then added, “I don't doubt your courage, Lieutenant, nor your loyalty, but we have to face reality. Copernicus is a hostile world to us, and we can expect no significant help from that quarters.”

 “The last word we had before we left was that Lieutenant Cooper was heading for cover,” Harper said. “If I know him, he'll still be fighting.”

 “We don't even know if he survived the day,” Kilquan said. “The Xandari were on his tail, and he might have been captured moments after we fled the system. We're going to have to deal with realities, not hopes.” Looking around the room, he said, “I do have some good news to report.”

 “That would make a nice change,” Salazar said.

 “My government has elected to support the Triplanetary Confederation in its war against the Xandari Empire. You may consider us co-belligerents.” He smiled, and added, “We'll be expecting some sort of trading pact after the war is over, but I think we can leave that to the diplomats. It's certain we'll get a better deal out of your Senate than anything the Empire will provide.”

 Molpa beamed a smile, and replied, “That's more like it.”

 “What does that mean, in real terms?” Salazar asked.

 With a frown, Kilquan said, “That you can consider your fleet doubled in size. Profitable Venture and Due Diligence are at your disposal.”

 “Two ships?” Ryan replied.

 “This war has already cost us greatly, Lieutenant. We only had a handful of warships in any case, mostly engaged in anti-piracy operations.” Looking down at the floor, he continued, “As of right now, we have five Monitors at our disposal. One of which isn't even hendecaspace-capable. We've sent everything we can spare.”

 Sitting at the table, he continued, “All of our shipyards have switched over to military construction projects. Every corporation has committed resources to the fight. Six more ships have been laid down, but even working around the clock, the first won't be ready for at least five months.”

 “The war could be over in five months,” Ryan said.

 “Believe me, I'm aware of that.” Turning to Harper, he asked, “What about your reinforcements?” 

 “There's no way to get them,” she said. “I tried to punch through with Daedalus last month. The Xandari have placed picket ships between us and the Confederation. A substantial fleet could break through, but one ship would never make it. Even if we did, it's a ten-week journey home. We'd be back just in time to attend the commissioning ceremony for your new ships.”

 Molpa nodded, and said, “The Xandari will know they have limited time before our reinforcements are ready. We can expect them to move well before then. If our information is right, then they could launch their attack at any moment.” Looking around the room, he added, “We don't seem to have many options left.”

 “And what of your people?” Kilquan asked, shaking his head.

 The Neander looked up with sad, heavy eyes, and replied, “The Free Peoples have supported this war since the start. Nothing's changed. As for the Consortium, those cowards are nothing to do with me.”

 “I see.” Shaking his head, he added, “Then we have few options. With four ships, we can't hope to prosecute this war.”

 “What about hitting their convoys?” Ryan suggested. “We can overwhelm their escorts, and that might disrupt their preparations.”

 “They've had three months, Lieutenant,” Molpa replied. “And they have the resources of an industrialized, spacefaring world at their disposal. Anything they need will be there already. The best we could manage would be to irritate them.”

 “I agree,” Kilquan replied. “Perhaps assuming a defensive posture would be better. Two ships could try and break back to the Confederation, maybe Daedalus and Due Diligence, and the rest of us can make a stand at our homeworld. I can promise you a friendly reception.”

 “And when they capture Testament Station?” Salazar replied.

 Shaking his head, Kilquan said, “Even with our help, Testament cannot withstand an attack of this scale. We'd be throwing our ships away for nothing. Conceding the station...”

 “Ends the war,” Molpa said. “You said it yourself. Your homeworld would be cut off, surrounded by all sides, and if the blockade runners don't make it through, it's all over.”

 “Sending any more ships would leave us too vulnerable. Besides, we have more ships coming, and...”

 Harper listened to the argument, looking down at her datapad, letting the words wash over her. She called up the strategic view, Copernicus nestled in, a perfect location to launch a strike inwards towards Testament Station, or outwards towards the heart of the Xandari Empire. The most valuable piece of strategic real-estates for twenty light-years.

 “We've got to take it back,” she said, cutting through the debate.

 “Excuse me?” Kilquan replied.

 “The situation hasn't changed, not at all.” Looking around the room, she said, “Copernicus is the key to all of this.” Tapping the datapad, she continued, “The only way we are going to win this war is by retaking that planet, driving the Xandari back out into space, and smashing their fleet into the bargain.”

 “Lieutenant...” Kilquan began.

 Pointing a finger at him, she replied, “Simply holding onto one world isn't going to do the job. They've got more shipbuilding capacity than you do, and you can be damn sure that Copernicus will be turning out capital ships soon. They've got a template to follow.”

 “Alamo,” Salazar said, nodding in agreement. “That shipyard was a stolen Triplanetary design. They've had a chance to get familiar with our technology. I don't see any reason why they couldn't start turning out ships of the same design.”

 “Waiting for reinforcements isn't the answer, either. They're too far back, and by God, that was a strategic mistake, but one we can't do a damn thing about right now. Five months is too long. By then they'll have captured Testament Station and all the surrounding systems. Don't forget the Collective. If their government signs a peace treaty...”

 Kilquan nodded, and replied, “I never said the situation wasn't desperate, Lieutenant. I just don't think that throwing away our few remaining ships is the answer.”

 “What do you propose?” Segna asked.

 Harper glanced at Salazar, drawing strength from his eyes, and said, “We're going to attack.”

 “Attack? Copernicus?” Kilquan said, shaking his head. “You've got to me out of your mind.”

 “It's the last thing the Xandari will be expecting.”

 “With good reason!”

 Rising to her feet, she shouted, “Look, damn it, we've got no other options left on the table. We can't wait this out, we can't evade them, and we can't win an attritional war. Every day we delay gives them an advantage. The only way we can beat them is at Copernicus. We retake the planet, drive out the Xandari, and smash their fleet.”

 Ryan beamed, and said, “That's more like it!”

 Nodding, Salazar added, “We would have the advantage both of surprise and initiative. Rather than waiting for them, we could choose the time and place of battle. That has a value of its own.”

 “You're crazy, all of you,” Kilquan said.

 “Then give me a better plan,” Harper replied. “Please, find another solution that will work.”

 Shaking his head, Kilquan said, “I haven't heard a real plan yet.”

 Reaching down for a datapad, Salazar said, “The orbital defense network.” A smile crept on his face, and he added, “That's the answer. They used it against us, so let's turn it right back at them.”

 “Ironic, but impractical.”

 “Not if we do have resistance forces on the ground. The network is controlled from installations on the surface.” Nodding, Harper continued, “Let's assume that we do have friends down on Copernicus. The Xandari will have a garrison, backed by government forces. All of which will be dependent on orbital support. Take that away, and they're finished.”

 “My people will rise up,” Ryan said. “You can bet your life on that.”

 “Isn't that precisely what you want us to do?” the Koltoc commander replied. He looked around the room, and said, “There are two objections I can immediately see. Answer those, and I'll give my approval to this mission.”

 “And those are?”

 “We need more ships. They've got at least five warships in orbit, and if we can't manage superiority of firepower, we're going to at least need superiority of numbers. Four ships isn't going to be enough.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “I agree. I'll just have to get more.”

 “Where from?”

 “The Consortium.” All eyes locked on him, and he added, “We've got a pretty good idea where they are hiding, and I'm commanding one of their ships.”

 “You realize that there is an excellent chance that they will simply shoot you out of the sky? Or take back their property and throw you and your crew into detention?” Kilquan replied.

 “I'm aware of the risk, but as you said, we've got to have more ships, and this is the only way I can see to get them. All of us are taking a gamble, Colonel, and mine will be no greater than anyone else.”

 “What's the second objection?” Harper asked.

 “The Battlecruiser Alamo. The most powerful ship the Xandari hold, and likely the heart of their attack fleet.” His eyes flicked from Harper to Salazar, and he added, “Even the orbital defense network wasn't enough to bring it down.”

 “Colonel,” Harper said, “I served on that ship for the better part of three years. I was a senior officer in the command structure, as was Lieutenant Salazar.” The words stuck in her throat, and it was only with effort that she finished, “We know her strengths and her weaknesses. We can take her down.”

 “And you'll do it?”

 “We've got to win the war, Colonel. No matter what it takes.” She looked back at him, and added, “If we pull this off, then the whole strategic situation is turned on its head. By any realistic projection of the Xandari forces, they're committing their last task force to the fight. They know that we're weak, but they don't have any depth either. Destroy this fleet, take Copernicus, and they're vulnerable. Open to attack.”

 “You're willing to gamble the future of both of our peoples on a single fight?”

 Molpa nodded, and said, “Not just yours, Colonel. Mine as well. All of our dependents are at Testament Station. Thousands of my people. Not to mention what will happen back home if we lose. My race condemned to slavery or extermination.” Turning to Harper, he added, “And yet I will support this plan. Because if we don't try it, we lose. Forever.”

 Kilquan stood up, then walked to the far side of the room, looking out at the starfield. Harper waited, looking at him, then glancing across at Salazar, who flashed her a reassuring smile. All of her life, she'd resented authority. Now she longed for a superior officer. Someone to tell her that she was making the right decision, that she wasn't condemning everyone in this room to death. Everything they had left would have to go onto the table, and if they lost, the road to the Confederation would be open.

 Molpa had been right, though. She could pull out, head home, try and fight their way back to Commodore Marshall's task force, but that would condemn the Koltoc, the Free Peoples, even the Coalition to slavery or extermination. And the Confederation to a decades-long war that they couldn't win. The Xandari had to be stopped, and they were the only ones left who could do it.

 Kilquan turned back to the table, nodded, and said, “We're in. All the way.”

 “Thank you, Colonel.”

 “Don't thank me, Lieutenant. I might have just doomed us all.” A smile crossed the veteran's face, and he added, “But at the very least, we're going to go down fighting.”

Chapter 4

 Moonlight shone through the window, giving Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova just enough light to look around her cell. Bare, concrete walls, one broken by a metal door, locked tight. Inside, a hard bed, a sink, and a toilet. Outside, a long corridor, three hundred paces from end to end, with a small exercise yard at the far end. For three months, that had been the limit of her world.

 She knew the rest of her crew were being held here, but aside from the occasional glimpse, she'd had no contact with them since her capture. Every day, the door would rattle open, and an interrogator would come in with her breakfast, asking her the same questions and getting the same response. By now, she was sure the man knew her serial number by heart.

 Outside, she could just make out the endless sea, the prison built on the edge of a cliff, a two hundred foot drop to the twisted rocks below. She'd made a single attempt to escape, right at the start, and the guards had let her get just far enough to convince her that there was no way out. The level beneath was a maze of tangled corridors, all of them rigged with security alarms, cameras covering the entire complex. It would take a full-scale assault to free the prisoners within, and a lone former hacker, without equipment, had no hope of escaping.

 Out on the water, a light shone again, a sequence of winks that she guessed was an attempt at sending her a message, though it didn't make any sense to her. Still, even if she was grasping at tatters of hope, at least it was evidence that there was someone out there on her side.

 It had to be long past midnight, but sleep refused to come, her body's act of silent rebellion at the monotonous routine that had been imposed upon her. A classic interrogation tactic, if nothing else, the idea that boredom might do what torture would not. Though in truth, she couldn't have answered most of their questions if she'd wanted to. She had no idea what Commodore Marshall was planning, had no knowledge of the current disposition of his ships.

 There had been a single question, only asked once, months ago, that gave her more hope. The only time an unfamiliar interrogator had arrived, and he'd broken the usual script to ask her about Lieutenant Harper. She knew that Daedalus was still free and had managed to rescue some of her crew before the Xandari had captured it. With luck, she was on her way home, gathering allies for another strike.

 Turning back to the window, she shook her head. She felt so helpless, unable to do anything to rescue the situation. Her decision had stranded her crew here, had cost them their ship, possibly the war, and though they'd done a lot of damage to the Xandari on their way down, she knew that it wasn't enough. Had the Copernicans not switched sides, all might have been different. When she'd first landed on this planet, she'd been an honored guest. Now she was a despised prisoner.

 The door rattled open, and she glanced at it with a start. This was well off-script, hours before the interrogator was meant to arrive. Standing at the threshold was Captain Kalb, the commander of the prison, a grim look on his face. She looked up at him with a sneer, not bothering to conceal her contempt. When they'd first met, they'd fought side-by-side against the Xandari. Now he had joined them, betraying both her and his own people. And by the look on his face, he knew exactly what he had done.

 “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. “I'd offer you a chair, but I don't seem to have one at hand.” At his silence, she continued, “While you're here, I'd like to make a complaint. The room service on this hotel is terrible, and I think you need to fire the chef.”

 “I'm not here to play games,” he replied. “Tell me who he is.”

 “I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

 “The traitor,” he said, shaking his head. “The Underground has an agent on my staff...”

 “That's an interesting admission,” she interrupted, a smile creeping onto her face. “So there is a resistance network. Not everyone is happy with your Xandari friends.”

 “And I know that he has made contact with you. If you don't tell me who he is, then...”

 “What?” she asked, interrupting him again. “What are you going to do to me? Shoot me?”

 “Yes,” he said, looking down at the floor. “Those are my orders, Captain.”

 Her eyes widened, and she replied, “Then you've fallen far enough to shoot prisoners of war. I supposed I should be surprised that it has taken you this long.” Folding her arms, she said, “Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova. Serial number...”

 “Don't you understand what comes next?” he shouted, wildly gesturing at the corridor. “There is a truck downstairs with two guards waiting for you. Their orders are to take you to the firing squad. If you don't tell me everything that you know, I'll have to turn you over to them.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I'm not going to tell you a word, and you know it.”

 A resigned frown on his face, he said, “You're going to die if you don't.”

 “That's your decision, not mine.” Glaring at him, she added, “Don't try and pass this off on me. You know this is wrong, but you're just going to be a good little servant to your overlords, aren't you.”

 Closing his eyes, he said, “One more time. Tell me who the traitor is.”

 “Not even if I could.”

 “Then you've left me with no choice.” Turning back to the corridor, he said, “Sergeant, take her down to the truck. Make sure she has no contact with anyone.” Glancing back at her, he continued, “If she decides to change her mind after all, bring her back up to my office.”

 “Sir, that's…”

 “Those are my orders,” he snapped. “Get on with it.” With one last look at Orlova, he stalked away down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back. The guard stepped forward, watching his superior walk away, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

 “Primitive,” she said, shaking her head, while the guard snapped them on her wrists.

 “It'll do the job,” he replied. “Look, I know the Captain didn't have to make that offer. I was there. We were just told to take you down to the truck. That's all I know.” He paused, then added, “Tell them something. Tell them anything. Don't...”

 “Make you do this?” she said. “You're making the choice, Sergeant. You could take me out of the building, help me free my crew, and put all of this right.”

 His eyes widened, and he replied, “Do you think we'd get ten feet out the door before being blasted to pieces by machine gun fire? I've got a family.” With a sigh, he gestured down the corridor, and said, “Right to the end, then turn for the elevator. That'll take us down to the parking lot. The guards are waiting for us there.” He pulled a pistol out of his holster, a sad frown on his face, and said, “Move.”

 Nodding, she walked ahead of the guard, down the corridor, glancing from left to right in the hope of seeing someone, anyone familiar. A forlorn hope; the doors were soundproofed, one-way mirrors to prevent them looking out. For all she knew, dozens of others had already made this long walk.

 She glanced back at the cold, curt, implacable guard, following him to the elevator. He wouldn't meet her gaze, looking at the wall to avoid her eyes. At least they still had the shame to know what they were doing. Though that wasn't going to save her life. And that light had been a signal, to someone here, in the prison. She'd been right about that, though if the message had been meant for her, she'd let the sender down.

 The elevator was waiting for them, and the guard gestured for her to step in, closing the doors behind them with the tap of a control. The mechanism burst into life, slowly dropping them through the levels, a final cell from which there was only one way out. Still the guard refused to meet her eyes, though she looked at him, watching his every move.

 “Tell me something,” she said. “What's your name?”

 “My name?”

 “I'd like to know the name of the man taking me to my death.”

 With a deep sigh, he replied, “Adolphe Duvall.” He shook his head, and said, “I have a wife, two little girls, living in the city. So I do what I must, to keep them alive for one more day.”

 “As slaves, laboring for the Xandari.”

 “While there is life, there is hope for a better tomorrow. I hold onto that, because there is nothing else left to hold on to.”

 The elevator reached the bottom, doors reluctantly sliding open to reveal two guards waiting on the other side, pistols at the ready, pointed at Orlova. Shaking her head with a smile, she walked past them, down the corridor, a cool wind on her face as she made her way to the waiting truck, her escort silently following.

 She climbed into the back of the truck, her eyes widening as she saw the other occupant, General Kelot, the leader of the Free Peoples. Sad recognition showed in his face as he shuffled across, gesturing for her to sit next to him. The guards locked the door closed with a loud crack, and she settled onto the bench beneath them as the vehicle jerked into life, bouncing down the road.

 “I didn't even know they'd captured you,” she said, shaking her head.

 “Never made it to the starport,” he replied. “I was right in the middle of a meeting with some government officials when they drew pistols on me. Took me directly to the prison.” Turning to her, he added, “I thought I was the only one until this morning.”

 Nodding, she said, “I haven't seen anyone else since I was captured. Just the guards and the interrogators, and I'm not sure those count as people.” The truck rocked over a deep rut, and she continued, “Kalb came for you as well?”

 “Demanded I tell him about the traitor, some crap like that.”

 “Same here.” She paused, and said, “For what it's worth, General, I'm sorry I brought you into this.”

 “Part of the game, Captain,” he replied. “I knew what I was getting into, and I knew what I was risking, and none of that has changed. It was worth it. It still is.” With a smile, he continued, “I'm an old man, and if my life is the price I pay to protect my people, I'll pay it gladly. Just like you.” He paused, then added, “We'll win, you know. In the end. I don't have to live to see it. I know it. Tyrannies always fall in the end.”

 “At least we know there's someone out there still fighting,” Orlova added. “And some of our fleet got clear of the system. Help could already be on the way.”

 “With the redoubtable Harper and Salazar at liberty, I have no doubt of that.”

 The truck thudded to a stop, and the hatch flew open, the guards ushering them out, this time with rifles in their hands. With a glance at Kelot, Orlova stepped out onto the ground, the mud sloshing over her shoes, her head held high. Sergeant Duvall followed, pistol in hand, still making sure to look at anything other than her.

 “If you have any last words,” one of the guards said, “You might want to say them.”

 Turning to face him, she said, “Let's get this over with.”

 “Fair enough,” he said, turning to Duvall. “Sergeant?”

 Duvall nodded, took a deep breath, and shot the guard in the back, the crack echoing across the field. The second executioner, startled, fell with a bullet in the neck, his body twisting into a confused mass as he fell, blood spurting out into the brown mud.

 “I'm sorry,” Duvall said, looking down at the bodies. “I'm so damned sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled the keys from his pocket and walked over to a stunned Orlova, quickly freeing her from the restraints. “We've got to get out of here, right now.” He pointed up at the sky, a pair of lights dancing overhead, and said, “Every second, those bastards are watching.”

 Kelot rubbed his wrists as the handcuffs dropped to the ground, and said, “Thank you, Sergeant. But before we go anywhere, why the change of heart?”

 “What change of heart?” he said, a smile crossing his face. “This was the plan right from the start.” Moving to the truck, he continued, “We can discuss this on the move. You've got friends waiting for you, and we've got to get into town before anyone can catch us. There are other things happening tonight, but that won't hold up Security for long.”

 With one last glance around, Orlova snatched one of the rifles from the corpse and followed Duvall into the truck, sliding in to sit next to him, Kelot by her side. Once more the engine jerked into life, the headlights casting a faint glow on the road ahead, turned down as low as the driver dared.

 “We had to get you out of the prison,” he said. “The Xandari were talking about using drugs on you, some sort of truth serum. They've been experimenting with new narcotics.” At her expression, he added, “Not on your people. They're too valuable, apparently. On ours.”

 “Bastards,” Kelot said.

 “That's what kicked the Underground into high gear.” He glanced up at the lights in the sky, adding, “President Wulf's even more of a puppet than she thought, and there's damn all she can do about it. The worst part is how many of our own people have switched sides, are working with them willingly. Keeping your head down I can understand, but actually turning traitor is something else.”

 He turned the truck down a side road, through a thicket of trees, curving towards the city on a bumpy track. Orlova checked the rifle, grimacing as she saw the depleted state of the clip. Four bullets wasn't much to start a revolution.

 “What's the situation,” Kelot asked. “We're starving for news.”

 “Lieutenant Cooper's forming some sort of rebel army out in the forest,” he replied. “No one's managed to get even close to him, but I know Security is trying to knock him out. Trouble is that he's stuck there. With these damned drones in operation, he wouldn't get a mile out of there without someone whistling down an airstrike on him.”

 “And the others?” Orlova asked.

 “Eighty-one of your people were taken prisoner, Captain, of which seventy-seven are alive today. The rest died in hospital.” He shook his head, and added, “The Xandari were rather reluctant to let us treat your wounded. It's a miracle the death toll wasn't higher.” Glancing across at her, he added, “I don't know much about what is happening in orbit, but I do know that there's a fleet getting formed up there. Lots of shipments of food, supplies, all sorts of equipment.”

 Nodding, Kelot replied, “They've had three months to lick their wounds from the beating we gave them. Long enough to get their ships ready for action.”

 “That's caused a lot of resentment down here as well,” Duvall added. “Factory capacity diverted to the Xandari, food shortages. No one's starving, but we aren't eating particularly well, either.” The road firmed up, buildings now on either side as they drove into the outskirts of the city. “Of course, what is actually going on out there is anyone's guess. We've got a few engineers working for us with the fleet, but they don't get to report very often.”

 “And your Underground?” Orlova asked.

 “You'll see for yourself in a few moments,” he replied, abruptly bringing the truck to a halt. “Head into the bar on the other side of the street. I'll be with you in a second.”

 Nodding, she and Kelot jumped out of the cab, Duvall pausing to drop a small sphere onto the ground before following them. A ball of flame ripped into the sky as the grenade detonated, a column of smoke punching into the air as a hundred alarms sounded as one, a dull ringing that woke everyone on the street.

 Orlova turned, looking at the display, then stepped through the open door into the bar, a crowd of drunken revelers cheering at the fire outside. The three of them pushed through the mob to the rear, out into the alley. Finally, Duvall stopped, panting for breath, as the wail of sirens cut through the air as the firemen responded to the explosion.

 “Enough chaos to hold them for a while,” he said. A figure walked out of the shadows, and he holstered his pistol, standing to attention. Orlova turned, and a smile broke out on her face, shared by Kelot.

 “Father Flannery,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll be damned.”

 “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he replied. “I couldn't be more pleased to see the two of you, but I think we'd better keep moving, or all of this will have been for nothing. We have a safe house not far from here, a place where we won't be disturbed. I think we've got a lot to talk about.”

 “The understatement of the year, Father,” Orlova replied. “Lead the way.”

Chapter 5

 Salazar looked at the holodisplay, picking his way through the sea of stars, trying to decide upon their destination. He'd only have one chance at this, and if he guessed wrong, his mission wouldn't even have a chance to fail. Glancing up at the clock, he frowned. Less than twenty minutes before Random Walk was scheduled for departure. Cursing under his breath, he reached for a half-empty cup of coffee, draining to the dregs, then returned his attention to the starfield.

 The Koltoc had surveyed dozens of systems in this part of space, and he could dismiss those immediately. They might have missed a small base, buried in an asteroid like the one they'd commandeered, but he was looking for the pirate homeworld, a place they had inhabited for years, decades. If the Koltoc had found it, they'd have destroyed it, or captured it at the very least. The two factions had been fighting long before the Xandari arrived, and likely would resume their hostilities once they had gone, assuming there was anyone left to continue the fight.

 At least he could wipe most of the stars from the display. Naturally enough, the Koltoc had been reluctant to explore this area, no sign of worlds that could be suitable markets for their trading ships and the growing hazard of an expansionist race in this region. A good place to hide. Another eight stars could be dismissed, if only through necessity. Random Walk would never get to them in time.

 That didn't discourage him much. Colonel Skeuros had been ready enough to fight, when normally he would expect a group of pirates to prefer the idea of melting into the background, fading into the darkness and waiting for the superior force to pass by. Their core world must be close, potentially under threat by the approaching Xandari forces.

 Five stars remained on the screen, all of them with retinues of planets, and there he ended his analysis once again. A hundred times he'd got this far, and it boiled down to essentially choosing one at random. With a one-in-five chance of being correct. Frowning, he tapped for assessments of mineral deposits, but without any actual visits, all of them boiled down to educated guesswork. Theoretically, all of them might support at least a small spacefaring culture, but that wasn't much help. He reached for the coffee cup, his hand missing and knocking it to the floor, the remaining liquid spilling out onto the deck.

 Looking down, a smile crossed his face. Gravity. This ship had rotational artificial gravity, just like most warships, to allow extended cruises. Staying in zero-gravity for too long had serious health repercussions, and pregnancy was a nightmare. They had to have some sort of gravity field to work with, at least some of the time. Theoretically, a rotating space station might provide what they wanted, but that would be too obvious, too hard to defend by a dispersed fleet of warships. On the surface of a world, they could dig in, bury their settlement underground.

 Three more systems were wiped from the map by his realization. All of them had planets, but none of them had worlds of the right size to have a gravity field matching this ship. That left just two possibilities, and as a bonus, gave him the hendecaspace points they needed. Throwing a control, he brought up images of the two stars, and projections of the planets orbiting them. One a rocky world, close-in to its star, tidally locked but large enough to provide the shelter he was seeking, the other the outer moon of a superjovian, one of dozens of swarming planet-sized chunks.

 Both worlds had their advantages. The moon had access to plentiful resources, scattered all across local space, but also dozens of local hendecaspace points. That would give lots of opportunities for the Neander to escape if a hostile fleet arrived, but would also allow an enemy ample means to evade defenses.

 The other world was alone, in a system with only one other, distant planet, and a scattered cometary belt that was all but inaccessible, even for hendecaspace-capable ships. Still it had the advantage of only limited access, only two ways into the colony. Protecting them with some sort of orbital defense network would be easy, but the lack of local resources would hurt soon enough. The mineralogical projections of the planet weren't promising, and the environmental hazards serious.

 Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, but he kept looking at the starfield, increasingly certain he was making the right choice. When they fled their homeworld to become outlaws, the Neander weren't simply looking for a place to build a new home, but a place to hide, where their oppressors could never find them. Nor could they plan on being able to move around too often. Some facilities had to be built over the course of years, and could not be transported easily or quickly. This had to last.

 It had to be the tidally-locked world. It was the last place anyone would establish a colony if they had a choice, the system had no obvious features to recommend it to a visitor, or anyone setting up a trading network, and the two hendecaspace points could be defended by a small fleet. If anyone did enter into the system, they could easily be shot down. He looked around the room, a smile on his face, knowing that his assumption applied to his ship, also. 

 “Salazar to Bridge,” he said, tapping a control. “I'm sending up our target data. I want a best-time hendecaspace course ready to go in fifteen minutes.” He looked at the system again, and added, “Don't pass this to the rest of the fleet. Just in case.”

 “Don't you trust us?” Harper asked, walking into the room.

 “Aye, sir,” Maqua replied, his voice echoing from the ceiling. “Computing course now. Our scheduled departure time is in sixteen minutes, ten seconds, sir, if we're leaving as planned.”

 “That's the intention, Midshipman. I'll be up presently.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “I've got to say, you sound like a commanding officer.”

 “I'm just a good actor,” he replied. “How are you bearing up?”

 “Badly.” Looking at the display, she continued, “You've picked this world based on the potential for orbital defense, right?”

 “And other things, but that's the basic idea.”

 “Meaning that you're flying into a trap. If they've got a satellite network, there's no reason to expect that they won't simply shoot you out of hand before you can so much as send a signal.” Shaking her head, she added, “Pavel, I don't like this, not at all.”

 “Daedalus might not be able to do it,” he replied, “and one of the Koltoc Monitors would certainly be shot down out of hand, but this was one of their ships, remember. And as far as they know, she's still operating under the command of their crew. All I have to do is make sure that Maqua is front and center at the start, and we should be able to get through the defense perimeter. We should only need twenty, thirty seconds.”

 “An awful lot can happen in thirty seconds,” she said.

 Nodding, he said, “Which is why we're operating with the smallest possible crew. I've stripped down to eighteen.” Shaking his head, he added, “It'll be tricky, but if we manage to talk Skeuros and his Merry Men to returning to the fight, I should be able to get some replacement crew from them.”

 “And if you can't?”

 Patting the hull, Salazar replied, “This is a good ship, Kris, but we're already asking her to do more than we have any right to. She really shouldn't even be flying. Which means that from a strategic point-of-view, both she and her crew are expendable.” He paused, then added, “All of them volunteered, even when I told them the risk they were running.”

 “Pavel...”

 Turning away from her, he continued, “What I'm trying to tell you is that if we don't make it to the party, we're no great loss. Risking this ship and a few crewmen to double the size of our attack forces is an acceptable trade.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I don't like it, Kris, I don't like it at all, but we've got to think of it in those terms.”

 Shaking her head, she walked up behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder, and said, “We've really been thrown into the deep end, haven't we.”

 Nodding, he replied, “And God-damn Captain Orlova and Commodore Marshall for getting us into the mess in the first place. We should never have come out this far, should have turned around at Testament Station and brought the task force forward. This war might have been over by now if we had. Yes, Copernicus would have fallen, but those bastards turned traitor anyway.”

 “Pavel...”

 “We left Yeager Station with a hundred and forty people, and only forty-five of them are left. We don't know if the others are alive or dead. We can hope that Cooper and some of the others managed to get away, start some sort of resistance movement, but that's all we can do. Hope. We won't know, not until the battle started.”

 Turning to her, he continued, “It's a good plan, Kris, and it's the best one we can come up with, but it's just so damned unfair that we've been left with this mess to clean up in the first place. I know no one ever promised that the universe would be fair, but it would be nice, just for once, to have a mission where everything went smoothly.” His eye itched, and he reached up to scratch it, snatching his hand away at the last moment. “Damn.”

 “Is that still bothering you?” Harper asked.

 “Sometimes,” he said. “I'm trying not to scratch in public. I don't think it's what a commanding officer should be doing.” With a faint smile, he added, “Not that I'm much of a commanding officer. Look at me, ranting and raving.”

 “You've got to vent to someone,” she replied. “And I think you're a fine commanding officer. If you don't trust yourself, trust your crew. You said it yourself. Foster, Maqua, Spinelli, Weitzman, Hooke, Bartlett. Lombardo. Rhodes. All of them volunteered to come with you, and they didn't do it for the mission, they did it for you. They know you, they trust you, and they're counting on you to pull this off.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I've been out of the Academy for two years, damn it. I shouldn't be sitting center-seat on a starship for another decade, at least. It's too soon, and I know it. There's so much I don't know, and...”

 “Pavel, you've got to have faith. Faith that you'll find a way to make this mission work, no matter the odds.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “We both know that not everyone is coming back from this one, but they all knew the risks going in. If you told them that they weren't going to make it, but that their deaths would accomplish the mission, do you think any of them would ask to switch ships? Even Hooke, annoying as he is.”

 With a thin smile, he replied, “Where did you pick up all of this stuff from?”

 “Maggie Orlova, mostly, with a dash of Logan Winter.”

 “Captain Winter,” he said, shaking his head. “I wouldn't mind meeting that man one day.”

 “I think you'll get the chance, when we get home. And we are getting home, Pavel. Don't doubt that.”

 “He's going to try and shanghai me into Intelligence?”

 “Certainly, once this mission is over,” she replied. “Unless you'd rather spend the next three years filing paperwork on Mariner Station, or on some sort of eternal public relations junket, telling a procession of bored schoolchildren about the wonders of the universe?” Shaking her head, she added, “You'd be tearing down the bulkheads in a week.”

 “Probably,” he said.

 “Besides, the two of us make a good team, and I don't want to see that broken up. Don't worry, I'm certain Logan will find us something interesting to do.” Glancing at the starfield, she continued, “Though we're getting some leave first. That I will guarantee.”

 “We've got a date with a beach, down on Copernicus, once this battle is over,” he replied. “And this time we're not going to miss it.” He paused, then added, “One more thing. Kris, I know that there's a chance...”

 “Don't say it.”

 “If the worst does happen, then remember that this mission was my idea, and my responsibility. And that I went down doing what I love, fighting for something bigger and better than I am.” With a smile, he added, “As you pointed out, I knew exactly what I was doing when I went in, and I'd do it again, no matter what.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “You aren't going to die, Pavel. And don't ask me how, or to defend that statement, because I can't. Maybe I have faith in your survival instincts, or maybe I just think that the cold, uncaring universe owes us one. All I know is that we're going to win, and we're going to win big. You can count on that.” A smile curled on her lips, and she added, “We're going to get that walk on the beach. Don't you dare be late.”

 “I'll be there,” he replied. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 She reached out to him, and he held her in his arms for a long minute. For that brief time, there was nothing else of importance in the universe to either of them. He looked down at her, but before he could say anything, his communicator chirped, breaking them out of their reverie.

 “Remind me to throw this out of an airlock,” he said, shaking his head. “Salazar here.”

 “Ryan here, sir. We're scheduled to leave the system in six minutes, and...”

 “And we need to think about heading to the egress point.” He nodded, looked down at Harper, and said, “Duty calls, I guess.”

 “I should be heading back to Daedalus anyway. We're breaking orbit ourselves in an hour.” Breaking out of their embrace, she added, “Take care of yourself, Pavel. Don't do anything stupid.” She paused, and said, “I guess I'll see you at Copernicus.”

 “I'll be there,” he said. “And I'll bring friends. Count on it.”

 “I will,” she said, making for the door. She paused for a second, as though about to add something, before turning for the corridor, quick footsteps on the deck outside. Salazar stood there for a moment, looking at the space she had been, holding the memory in his mind for as long as he could. All words aside, he couldn't quite get past the fear that he would never see her again.

 Reaching for his datapad, he turned off the holoprojector and walked calmly down the corridor, making for the bridge. As he reached for the ladder, the engines fired, pushing the ship away from the station, beginning its journey towards the hendecaspace point. He climbed up the rungs, three at a time in the low gravity, and rose to the command deck, Ryan standing at attention as he entered.

 “Course computed,” he said. “Egress in two minutes, ten seconds.”

 “Signal from Profitable Venture, sir,” Weitzman added. “Colonel Kilquan wishes us the best of luck, and good hunting.”

 Salazar looked down at the command chair, smiled, then settled into it, trying to look as relaxed as he could. There was obviously a trick to it, and one that he had not yet mastered. He tapped a control to show the base on the viewscreen, slowly receding as Random Walk raced for the hendecaspace point, a small dot showing Harper's shuttle, flying back to Daedalus on the far side.

 He longed to go with her, knowing that she was facing dangers every bit as grave as he. Or for her to be here, on this ship, standing behind him with some sort of sarcastic comment on stand-by. Shaking his head, he glanced down at the panel by his side, bringing up the course projection. An anonymous star, only detected a handful of years ago, just a long series of numbers to identify it. No one had even bothered to register a proper name for it.

 With a smile on his face, he typed, “Harper's Star,” into the keyboard, sending a data dump across to Daedalus. The next time they got in contact with anyone from the Confederation, the Interplanetary Astronomical Union would be getting a name request. And if this mission went wrong, it would be the last message he ever sent her.

 “Clear for hendecaspace entry in thirty seconds, sir,” Maqua said, turning from the helm.

 “All decks report ready,” Ryan added, looking across from the engineering station.

 “Very well, Midshipman, you have the call.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied, reaching down to his controls. “I have the call.” He looked so young, and while he came from a world dozens of light-years from Earth, hundreds of centuries of divergent evolution separating them, Salazar saw himself in the young man's eyes. That eager look, a thirst for adventure. Had it been only two years since he'd been sitting at Alamo's helm, ready to seek out new worlds? It seemed like as many centuries.

 With a blinding blue flash, Random Walk slid into hendecaspace. They were committed now, bound for Harper's Star, and nothing could change their fate. In five days, he'd find out whether or not he had guessed right, and what sort of reception the Neander had prepared for them.

Chapter 6

 The bullet smashed into the wall, missing Cooper by an inch, and he instantly snapped awake, instinct hurling him from his bed, hands reaching for his pistol. Outside, pandemonium reigned, and as he staggered into the clearing, he saw a man being held by Moretti and Walpis, a discarded rifle at his feet. One of the villagers he had saved, only a few days ago, with murder on his eyes.

 Barbara Bradley, his wife, came racing over, snapping a look of hatred at the would-be assassin before looking over him with a weary eye, shaking her head.

 “This is what happens when you turn in early,” she said. “Are you...”

 “He missed. Only just.” Stepping forward, he said, “Why?”

 “Thousands of our people will die if you aren't stopped,” the man said, spitting on the ground. “The Xandari made it clear what would happen if the resistance won. They'd bomb our planet from orbit, reduce our cities to rubble and send down their troops to wipe every man, woman and child from the face of Copernicus.” Standing taller, he continued, “You can kill me. I know that, going in. I'm just sorry I didn't succeed.”

 A crowd was gathering, and Moretti asked, “Do you think...”

 “No,” Cooper replied, looking at the refugees. “All of you are here because you have first-hand knowledge of what the Xandari are capable of. They don't need to wipe you out from orbit, not when they're already killing you piecemeal. They won't stop until everyone on this world is confined in Kepler City, a prison camp for their slave laborers. Just another Resource World for their Empire, and any hope for your future will die.”

 “What hope is there for a future if our world is a shattered ruin?” the prisoner asked.

 “They won't destroy this world,” he said, shaking his head. “They need your industries, your workforce, all intact and serving their needs. It'll take more than one attack to convince them to throw all that away.” Turning to the man who had almost killed him, he added, “Let me tell you this. Their day is coming. We've got a fleet on the way, and when they arrive, we're going to rise up and throw those Xandari bastards back to the hell that gave them birth. Every savage act will be repaid with interest, I can promise you that.”

 “What do you want me to do with him, sir?” Walpis asked.

 “Kill the traitor!” a voice cried, screaming from the crowd, but Cooper shook his head.

 “No. Lock him up. When the war is over, he'll face trial for what he's done.”

 “Kill him!” the same shrill voice urged, and the rumble of the mob suggested that it was reporting the popular view. Cooper turned to his subordinate, doubt even in the Neander's eyes.

 “Corporal, take him away, lock him with the prisoners, and place a guard on him. I don't want to be told that he died while attempting escape, or that any harm has come to him.” Raising his voice and turning to the crowd, he continued, “The dead deserve their day in court. All of this must be remembered, or we'll only make the same damn mistakes again, and if we just kill someone without due process, we're no better than the Xandari.”

 “It's not your world,” a gray-haired woman said, stepping forward. “He's not one of your people. Why should you be the one to make the decisions?” 

 A smile crossed Cooper's face, and he replied, “I could talk about the treaty our peoples made, or the weapons we've provided, or the fact that a lot of good friends of mine have died at the hands of your government, but I'm not going to.” Taking a step back, he said, “If you truly want to kill this man, then I won't stop you.” The prisoner looked stoically at the approaching crowd, but Cooper continued, “I won't stop you, but I won't help you any more. You can free yourselves, without my help. I'll come to my own arrangements with the Xandari, one way or another. I'd say there's an excellent chance they'll let me and the rest of my people leave, if we promise to tell the Fleet to leave Copernicus alone.”

 “We're allies,” the woman said.

 “Then act like it,” he replied.

 Moretti looked at her, and said, “Don't be a fool, Madeline. We'd all be dead if it wasn't for Lieutenant Cooper, and he's the only one here with any military training. Either we follow his commands, or we let the Xandari win.” Turning to the prisoner, he added, “Besides, the ammunition stores are low. I don't think we can justify wasting a bullet on this traitor.”

 “Then...”

 “Leave it, Maddie,” he said, turning to Cooper. “I'll watch the man myself, sir. He was one of my people, or so I thought.”

 “Very well, Sergeant, but what I said to Corporal Walpis still stands. He is not to come to any harm, or I will hold you personally responsible. I trust I make myself comprehensively clear?”

 “You do, sir.”

 “Then please, take this bastard out of my sight.”

 With a nod, Moretti and Walpis escorted the prisoner away, to the stockade they had built on the fringes of the camp to house their few prisoners-of-war, a dejected group of captives who knew that most of those around then wished them dead, that they lived only as long as Cooper remained in control.

 Looking around the rest of the camp, Cooper sighed as the crowd began to disperse. More than two hundred people were living here now, in the heart of the forest, in a collection of tents and rough-built huts, scattered along the banks of a fast-flowing stream. He was certain that the Xandari knew where they were, and that they could be attacked at any time, but wiping out this base wouldn't end the resistance. Here there was some safety, while the Xandari watched them, knowing that if they attacked this camp, Cooper would simply lead the survivors elsewhere.

 Bradley watched as the prisoner was thrown roughly into the stockade, flying face-first into a puddle of thick, viscous mud, and shook her head. Walpis took up position outside the door, the refugees glaring at him the whole time.

 “I don't like this, Gabe, I don't like this at all.” Glancing up at him, she continued, “If anything happened to you, this little army would fall apart in a day, and most of the people here would die very quickly. You've got to be more careful, and we've got to do something better about screening.” Nodding at the crowd, she added, “There could be a dozen Xandari agents out there, waiting for their chance to strike.”

 “All true,” he replied, “but the reality is that there is nothing we can do about it. We're reaching the limits of our strength, and unless we can do something about the drones, we're stuck out here. If we could get a couple of squads out towards the city, we might be able to do a lot more, hit some of the perimeter bases and get some real equipment.” Shaking his head, he continued, “As it stands, about all we can do is wait here in the wilderness for someone to come riding to the rescue.”

 “Commodore Marshall?”

 “I don't know,” he replied. “Sooner or later he's bound to turn up. What worries me is that he might simply try a repeat of our mission, send out another battlecruiser on her own to scout ahead. Thermopylae, perhaps, or Gilgamesh. There's a real risk that we might end up worse than we started.”

 “He won't just throw ships away,” Bradley replied. 

 “Assuming he's still in command,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “We've been gone for almost a year. Anything might have happened back there. For all we know, the United Nations or the Cabal have started to stir up trouble again. Things were quiet when we left, but that's not going to last forever.”

 “Then what's the alternative?” she asked.

 “I only wish I had one. The strategic situation hasn't changed. We can't launch a major attack down here on the surface unless we can steal control of the high ground. Short of an attack on the Xandari forces up in orbit, there's damn all we can do. Until that happens, our only choice is to husband our strength, gather our forces, and wait for a better day.”

 “That isn't going to work either,” Bradley said, looking around at the refugee settlement. “These people aren't going to be patient, and they're not going to wait for a better opportunity to strike because of the tactical situation. One of two things is going to happen. Either they'll take action by themselves, which will probably wipe us out, or they'll suggest surrendering on terms to the Xandari.”

 Nodding, Cooper replied, “I don't disagree with you, but I don't see what our options are. I'd love to launch a major strike, hit some important target, but while those drones are watching our every move, I don't see how to pull it off, not without taking major casualties.” He paused, then added, “Not that there aren't a lot of places I'd like to have a crack at.”

 “We should hit the drone control station,” a new voice said, Lieutenant Cantrell walking into the compound, heading towards them. “A picked squad, five people, might be able to sneak in and take the place down before anyone could spot them.”

 “Are you out of your mind?” Bradley asked. “You wouldn't get a mile before the Xandari spotted you, and they'd have plenty of time to decide whether to try and capture you or simply kill you where you stood.”

 “Not if we moved quickly, and not if we arranged some distractions,” Cantrell pressed. “We can't just sit around here doing nothing.”

 “Nor can we throw away half a dozen lives for nothing,” Cooper replied. “Damn it, Lise, there's nothing I'd like more than to hit that site, but it's right in the middle of the city. You're talking about a hundred miles, four days walk just to reach it, and a one-way trip at best.”

 “The Underground,” Cantrell began, but Cooper shook his head.

 “They're got a lot of good people, but none of them qualified for a mission of this sort. Unless they can rustle up someone with real training, hitting that base is out of the question,” Bradley said.

 “We're about due our daily contact,” Cooper replied. “I'll have a word with them about it.”

 “Sir,” McBride said, a smile on his face, holding their sole covert communicator. “I have someone to speak to you.”

 “Father Donegan?” Cooper asked.

 “Captain Orlova.”

 “What?” Cooper snatched the communicator, and said, “Captain, is that you?”

 “Loud and clear, Gabe, and I'm very pleased to speak to you.”

 “Voice-print check,” Cooper said, turning to Cantrell. “On the double.”

 “Way ahead of you,” she replied, holding up her datapad. “Get her talking for a moment, and I'll let you know when I've got enough data.”

 “Captain, what's the weather like where you are?”

 “Cloud-cover's pretty thick, and I think there's a good chance that we're going to get some rain later, and if we're going to waste time for a voice-print analysis, I might at least start to brief you on the current situation. You might be nice and safe out there in your woodland haven, but the Xandari will be triangulating this call right now.”

 “It's her,” Cantrell asked.

 “I could have told you that without the datapad,” Bradley said.

 “What's the situation, Captain?” Cooper asked.

 “The Underground managed to get me out of prison,” she replied, “along with General Kelot, but I'm afraid I don't know anything more about the state of the rest of the crew than you. They've had me in solitary confinement since we were taken. Never mind about me, and, for the present, never mind about you. Just in case I get captured, I don't want to know any specifics about your force.”

 “Understood, Captain. Is there any help on the way?”

 “Not that I know, Lieutenant. I'm afraid we're going to have to work out our own salvation, and that means organizing a mass uprising.”

 Cantrell looked smugly at him, and Cooper replied, “We've been over all of that, Captain, and it comes down to the same problem. The Xandari have the high ground, and without regaining control of orbital space, I don't see how we could make any uprising stick. Ultimately, if we did push them off, they'd wipe out Kepler City rather than let it fall back into our hands.”

 “This planet held out for months with the Xandari holding orbital space. With a Triplanetary fleet on the way, they might just cash in and leave the planet, pull back to their own territory rather than risk a costly assault.” She paused, then added, “Do you have the forces to pull off an attack on the city? If we provide support from here?”

 Looking around at the refugees, watching them train with their captured weapons, he said, “Possibly, though as it stands, I can't use a tenth of my potential strength. While those damned drones are in position, we're stuck in the forest.”

 “Let me worry about the drones. You get things moving on your end. I'll let you know when we are ready to move. Watch the sky, Cooper. Orlova out.”

 “There we go,” Cantrell said. “I'll get...”

 “You won't do a damned thing,” Cooper replied. “That might have been the Captain's voice-print, but we don't know whether she's speaking for herself or someone else.”

 “She'd never turn traitor,” Cantrell snapped.

 “No, but she might not have been given the choice,” Bradley replied, shaking her head. “We don't know what the Xandari are capable of, but we know that they don't exactly play nicely. It's possible they've found some way of chemically suborning her, or there might be something we don't know about going on.” Nodding, she added, “I'm with you, Gabe. We can't take the risk that this might be a trick.”

 “Cooper, as far as I can see you have been given a direct order from your commanding officer,” Cantrell replied, “and you are refusing to obey it. I'm telling you, that voice was hers, and the manner in which she acted suggests that she is under her own control, not that of the Xandari.” 

 “Lieutenant, I am in command here. Not you.” Shaking his head, he said, “You might be right. I certainly hope you are. I'd like nothing better than to see all of those lights in the sky wink out, for us to be able to move forces into position for a strike on the capital, to wipe the Xandari off the face of the planet. But I simply don't dare take the risk. There are too many lives at stake, and more than that.” He looked at the camp again, and said, “Three months to gather this force, to get these people together, to assemble at least the beginnings of an army. I'm not going to throw all of that away because of your impatience, Lieutenant, so you might as well forget about it right now!”

 “Then we're just going to sit here and do nothing,” she replied, shaking her head.

 “Hardly,” he replied. “Barbara, I'm going to leave you in command of the camp. If you see the drones drop, then you will proceed at speed to the staging areas we've discussed. Make sure the company commanders are properly briefed.” Turning to Cantrell, he continued, “We're heading to the perimeter of the forest. If there is a window of opportunity, then I'm going to make sure that we take full advantage of it.”

 “What are you going to do?” a worried Bradley asked.

 “We've got one rifle for every three people, and only one and a half clips per rifle on average. We're worse on everything else we're going to need to make this force into a real army.” With a smile on his face, he added, “Fortunately, I'm certain that the Xandari will provide us with everything we need.”

 “You're going to hit one of their bases,” Bradley said, shaking her head.

 “That's the Gabriel Cooper I remember,” Cantrell replied. “I'm with you, Gabe.”

 “Damn right you are,” he said. “Get the strike team ready. We move out in twenty minutes.”

 Nodding, she walked away, and Bradley said, “Another crazy stunt?”

 “They do seem to be my specialty,” he replied, a smile on his face.

Chapter 7

 “The ship is cleared for action, Captain,” Scott said, turning from the tactical station. “Emergence in one minute, ten seconds. Missiles are in the tubes, all systems green.”

 “Thanks, Kat,” Harper replied, running her own eyes over the status boards, checking for herself that all was as it should be. It wasn't that she didn't trust her second-in-command, that wasn't an issue, but more and more she felt she had to double-check everything personally. In a few seconds, they'd be in combat, and if something went wrong here, the whole mission would fail.

 “Thirty seconds,” Midshipman Armstrong said, turning from the helm. 

 “You have the call,” Harper replied.

 “Aye, ma'am,” she replied. “I have the call.”

 Still a Midshipman, even after all of this, Harper thought, shaking her head. She'd have to do something about that, once the fighting was over. Armstrong was a Mustang, promoted from the ranks by Captain Orlova to help fill in for the casualties Alamo had suffered, but she'd easily transitioned from flying shuttles to flying starships, a cool and cautious pilot.

 She looked around the bridge, from one console to another. Arkhipov at the sensors, Ingram at the communications station, Fitzroy running the damage control console. All of them had been thrown together as a prize crew, five months ago, when they'd first recaptured Daedalus from the Xandari. Since then they'd become seasoned veterans.

 Five months, she mused. It seemed unreal, and her time back on Alamo was beginning to fade into the distance. Almost it felt as though she had been commanding a ship for years, that she had been serving here all of her life. She rubbed the arm of her command chair, shaking her head. If it was always like this, it would be easy. Still, she doubted that she would ever be truly comfortable in the seat, and if Orlova, Nelyubov or anyone else senior walked through the door, she'd turn over command without a second thought.

 As the seconds counted down, she thought about Orlova, wondering what was happening back on Copernicus, captured with the rest of the crew. If this mission was a success, if somehow they managed to pull off a victory that seemed ever more improbable the more she thought about it, they'd be free, ready to return to the Confederation in triumph.

 “Ten seconds, Captain,” Armstrong said.

 She leaned forward, watching the seconds tick away, and with a blinding blue flash the stars reappeared on the screen, arranged in unfamiliar positions, a swirling gas giant hovering at the top, tendrils of purple and green curling around each other. The tactical view snapped on, and she immediately saw their goal, just as she'd hoped. A fueling station, hovering in low orbit over the planet, with a transport hovering next to it. A Xandari transport.

 “Damn it,” Molpa said, shaking his head. “That's one of ours. Coalition.”

 “That's going to make this easier,” Harper replied.

 “No sign of other starships,” Arkhipov reported. “Just one ship in the system. She's lighting engines, making for the hendecaspace point.”

 “Intercept course, Midshipman,” Harper ordered, and Daedalus surged forward towards their target, weapons at the ready. She rose to her feet, turning back to the sensor display, looking at the readout for herself, the technician gesturing at the cluster of ships on the screen. The station was just sitting there, her crew making no moves, simply waiting for their destruction.

 Two more flashes appeared on the screen, the Koltoc ships arriving ten seconds behind Daedalus, immediately moving to their positions in the formation. Harper turned to Ingram, who shook his head.

 “No response from either the ship or the station, Captain, not on any channel.”

 “Maintain trajectory,” she replied. “Don't fire unless you have to. We need that ship intact.” Turning to Molpa, she continued, “Kat, you've got the bridge. I'll be back in a minute.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Scott said, not moving her eyes from the tactical display. “I have the bridge.”

 Pausing at the communications station, she ordered, “Ingram, start checking for an interface.”

 “Aye,” the technician replied, turning back to his console with renewed energy.

 Molpa stepped into the corridor first, struggling in the acceleration-crafted gravity, Harper following him down to the shuttle lock. Daedalus was too small for a real hangar bay, smaller even than Random Walk, and contented itself with a series of docking ports along the upper hull. As she walked, a technician passed her, snapping a salute, and she returned it without thinking, the act now second-nature to her.

 In the corridor outside the shuttle, a dozen crewmen gathered. The remnants of Alamo's Espatier contingent, at least those Salazar hadn't taken with him, and volunteers from the Free Peoples, ready to fight on against the Xandari. All of them were equipped correctly, combat armor and rifles, but few of them had the edge that Cooper's troops had. They were too eager for the fight, and that was going to get a lot of them killed unless they were very, very lucky.

 “You've got the drill down, Major?” she asked.

 “We'll do our part, Captain. Clear the way, and we'll do the job. All the way to Copernicus.”

 She nodded, turned to the squad, and said, “Good luck, and good hunting.”

 “Thank you,” he replied, saluting her before turning to the airlock, leading the group into the shuttle. They all knew that there was no possibility of rescue if this mission went wrong. The debacle at Copernicus had cost Daedalus all but a single shuttle, and if they lost it, there was no way to retrieve the boarding party.

 Even if it was a success, the danger was only beginning. Molpa would be commanding a skeleton crew to Copernicus, giving the theoretical resistance a chance to prepare for the attack to come. Five picked crewmen, all of them from the Free Peoples, knowing that the odds of survival were minimal at best, and they hadn't hesitated, not for a second.

 She ached to go with them, to push one of the troopers away and take his seat, trying to justify to herself that her skills would be useful, that they were going to need a good combat hacker, but she hung back, watching as they filed into the cabin one at a time, the last of them glancing back at the corridor, flashing her a smile as he closed the hatch. With a loud clunk, the shuttle detached, beginning its journey towards the transport, and for a long minute, she looked at the lock, the weight of responsibility crushing her soul.

 Stepping back onto the bridge, she looked at the sensor display before returning to her station, pulling her lap console into position and bringing up the electronic warfare systems, logging into the communications suite to take advantage of Ingram's work.

 “Report,” she said, still focused on her console.

 “Profitable Venture and Due Diligence have launched their assault teams, thirty seconds behind ours,” Scott said. “First docking in a hundred and forty seconds. If nothing changes, the Xandari transport will leave the system in three hundred and ten seconds, and we'll be in combat range for ninety-one seconds of that.” Shaking her head, she added, “Still no sign of activity from the station, Captain. I don't like it.”

 “Some chatter between the transport and the station,” Ingram said. “Nothing I can decode, though. I've logged it all for future analysis.” Shaking his head, he added, “If we had the equipment on Alamo...”

 “If we had Alamo,” Armstrong replied, “We wouldn't be out here in the first place.”

 “And miss all this fun?” Arkhipov said. Harper smiled, knowing that she should silence them, but reluctant to stop them talking. They'd grown together as a crew over the last few months, the same rapport that Alamo's bridge crews had always enjoyed. Something to be savored, not rejected. She only wished that she could join in.

 “We're in,” she said, nodding as her probes worked their way into the freighter's systems. The security was tighter than she'd hoped, but at least it was something she recognized. The same United Nations firewall they'd used before, an old design with a few interesting tweaks. Nothing she couldn't handle.

 Her hands flew across the controls as she issued commands, deflecting the clumsy attempts of the enemy sysop to guard their ship, pushing deeper into the freighter’s system. First the manifest, which confirmed her suspicions. That ship might have Xandari commanders, but it had a slave crew, all locked down in the lower levels. All of whom would be butchered in their pens if the Xandari thought their ship was about to be captured. She could do something about that.

 Unsurprisingly, the security systems around the slave detention areas were the best-protected of the ship, and the enemy sysop moved frantically to attempt to block her progress. With a smile, she danced around his attempts to block her, slicing into the firewalls with rapier-like precision, disabling the network a piece at a time. After disabling the monitoring systems, she moved for the kill, the hatches that had been locked down as soon as Daedalus jumped into the system.

 Thirty-nine people were confined in there, more than three times the number of Xandari on board. Should they successfully make their escape, the crewmen were doomed, the situation worsened by the boarding party on its way. Her hands rattled across the keys as she freed the prisoners, one hatch at a time, slamming open and locking back. Reaching for a headset, she broke into the internal communications system, then cursed. Someone had managed to shut her out, but with a look at the sensor display, it wasn't going to make any difference.

 “Ingram,” she ordered, “have the boarding shuttles aim for the rear of the transport. With any luck they'll run right into a slave revolt in progress. Have Major Ingram report as soon as he has secured the bridge.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he said, a smile on his face. Harper settled back to watch the screen, her squadron moving into position towards the freighter. Any second now, the action would begin. She glanced back at the sensor display, Arkhipov frowning as he looked down at one of his readouts.

 “Captain,” he replied, “There's something strange happening at the station. They're cycling their airlocks, and it looks like...” The technician paused, then with a grimace on his face, he continued, “Biomass. Captain, they're throwing people out of the airlocks.”

 “We're getting a signal,” Ingram said.

 “I doubt they're calling to surrender,” Scott added.

 “Put them on,” Harper ordered, and the image of a Xandari in full battle dress appeared on the screen, sneering as he looked at the bridge of Daedalus. Behind him, a man was kneeling on the floor, another Xandari standing over her, pistol ready to execute him.

 “You will end this attack at once,” the Xandari said, “and surrender your ships, or I will execute every slave in this system.” Leaning forward, he added, “You are weak, Captain, and I intend to demonstrate that. There are hundred and nine of your people here, including some from your Battlecruiser Alamo.”

 “My God,” Armstrong said. “That's Ensign Gurung.”

 The trooper glanced up, smiled, then yelled, “Don't do it, Lieutenant! Don't...”

 A shot echoed around the screen as the Xandari pistol barked, Gurung's body collapsing to the deck. Another prisoner was brought forward, this one a Neander wearing civilian garb, roughly dragged to the floor to take Gurung's place.

 “Last chance,” the Xandari said.

 “Scott,” Harper said, turning to her, “Is there anything we can do?” 

 “Twelve minutes before we could get close,” Scott replied, “and even then, I'm not sure we have the forces to secure the station.”

 Turning to the Xandari, Harper said, “I will offer your crew safe passage from this system if you stand down at once.”

 Shaking his head, the enemy officer replied, “Weak, as I thought. I give you one minute to surrender, or I will execute the prisoners, and all of those deaths will be on your hands.”

 Harper's eyes widened, and she looked around the bridge, horror-stricken faces looking back at her. This wasn't war, not as she knew it, but something else. Brutal, savage and primal. Glancing across at the security station, she shook her head. There was no way to hack into their systems, not in the time. The freighter was usually stolen software, but the station wasn't. Hacking an alien network would be a task of months, not minutes, and both she and the Xandari knew it. She looked down at her hands, white knuckles gripping the arms of her command chair, then looked back up at the screen, taking a deep breath.

 “The Triplanetary Confederation does not respond well to threats. I will destroy your station if you do not immediately surrender and turn over the prisoners to my squadron, and you will face war crimes charges for what you have already done.”

 “Words,” the Xandari said.

 “No,” Harper replied, turning to Armstrong. “Helm, re-plot trajectory for a course to the station. Execute when ready. Tactical, prepare missile salvo for immediate launch, and inform Major Molpa that he'll have another fight on his hands when he's finished with the freighter.”

 “Kris,” Scott began, her face pale. “Aye, ma'am. Plotting firing solution.”

 “Airlocks cycling,” Arkhipov said, all emotion drained. “Twelve more bodies.”

 “And twelve more, every minute,” the Xandari said.

 Rising to her feet, Harper yelled, “Fine, go right ahead, kill them all. Those deaths are not on my conscience, but on yours, and they'll haunt you and your damned people until the end of time. We'll never rest until we've crushed your people, made certain that they can never hurt anyone ever again, and if that means killing each and every one of you, so be it.” Turning to Ingram with fury in her eyes, she added, “Close the channel. Get that bastard off my screen.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he replied.

 “Boarding shuttles have docked with the transport, Captain,” Scott added. “Major Molpa reports rapid progress. Looks like the slaves have already secured several key areas.” She paused, then said, “Power buildup on the station.”

 Nodding, Harper replied, “They're not going to let it fall into our hands.”

 “A hundred people,” Armstrong said. “Some of them Triplanetary crewmen. We can't sit here and do nothing!”

 “Would you have me surrender, Midshipman?” Harper asked, shaking her head. A war raged inside her, a voice demanding and begging that she think of something, come up with a way to save the day, but the laws of celestial mechanics ruled. Daedalus couldn't reach the station for at least ten minutes, not at maximum speed, and the strike force wouldn't be able to catch them for twenty. By then, all of it would be over.

 “Power spike,” Arkhipov said, listlessly. He threw a switch, bringing the station to full view on the screen just in time to watch it explode, a collection of shattered wreckage tumbling through eternity, twisted corpses strewn throughout the debris.

 “Track the bodies,” Harper replied. “I want to retrieve them later. For burial.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” the technician answered. Silence reigned on the bridge, all eyes on the slowly-expanding debris field swirling in orbit. Hundreds dead, and all of them her responsibility. Armstrong glanced back at her, eyes loaded with accusation, before turning back to the helm, and she couldn't find the words to chastise her.

 “Alter course, Midshipman,” she said, forcing the words out. “Bring us back into formation with the rest of the squadron.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Armstrong replied.

 “Signal from Major Molpa, Captain,” Ingram said. “He reports the bridge is secure, and they'll be shutting down their engines in one minute.” Glancing down at the report, he added, “All systems functional aside from minor damage. He anticipates being able to depart the system within the hour.”

 “Excellent,” she said. “Start work on transferring the captives over to the squadron, and have the prize crew stand-by.” She paused, and added, “What happened today was terrible, people, but there wasn't any other choice. If we don't get that freighter to Copernicus under our control, then millions of lives would be at risk, both out here and back home.” Looking at the screen, she added, “We'll avenge them. You have my word on that. Scott, you have the bridge.”

 She stepped into her office, sitting down behind her desk, and pulled up a datapad. Another successful mission, a step on the way to the liberation of Copernicus. And more than a hundred people had paid the price for that victory, most of them civilians who had no place in the firing line.

 Now they had to win. For the sake of the dead, if nothing else. 

Chapter 8

 Orlova smeared the last of the black paste on her face, glancing in the mirror to make sure she was completely covered, before sliding the cap over her hair, tugging it down low. She looked across at Kelot, shaking her head with a smile as he gingerly applied the makeup, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

 “This is insane,” he said.

 “You wanted to go on the mission,” she replied. “That means camouflage. We're going to have enough trouble sneaking through their security as it is, without making it easy for the guards to spot us.” Duvall walked into the room, already prepared for the infiltration, smiling as he watched the Neander tentatively rubbing the paste into his forehead, smearing it into his hair.

 “I don't think that look's going to catch on,” he said. “We're all ready outside. The diversion is scheduled for fifteen minutes. That should give us more than enough time to reach the target.” He paused, then added, “You realize how risky this is, of course.”

 “Liberating this planet is going to take greater risks than this,” Kelot grunted. “Consider yourselves lucky if this is as dangerous as it gets. When my people were freed, we took casualties in the hundreds, and more in our escape.” Looking at the resistance fighter, he added, “How big a price are you willing to pay for your liberty, Sergeant? Would you see this beautiful city of yours in flames, watch your people fall by the thousand under bullet, bomb and shell? Because that is the price freedom might demand.”

 “Let's just hope it doesn't come to that,” Orlova said.

 “Hope,” the veteran said, shaking his head, “Hope won't win you a battle.”

 “But the lack of it might cost you one,” she replied, reaching for her pistol, sliding a clip into position. “Come on.”

 With an exasperated sigh, the Neander pulled on his holster, struggling to fit it around his waist, and Orlova looked at him critically, waiting at the door. Kelot was a tough fighter, but his infiltration skills were limited at best. If it came to leading men into battle, getting into the thick of the fight, he was a good soldier. Sneaking into a base required something different, a discretion she was unconvinced he possessed.

 Duvall was little better. She didn't doubt his courage, and he'd volunteered for this mission as soon as she'd told him about it, but he'd spent his career watching prisoners, only drafted when the Xandari arrived. He'd never so much as thought about fighting a guerrilla war. They'd have been better off with some of the prisoners he had been guarding, a sneak thief, perhaps, or a good pickpocket.

 Shaking her head, she led the way down the corridor. It was rare enough that you got to choose the men you led into battle, and you had to win the war with the tools you had, not the ones you wanted. Both of them were loyal, brave, and good shots. Hopefully, that would be enough to win the day.

 The first time she'd visited Kepler City, the streets were full of life, happy people going about their business. Now it was a cold, depressing place, and the glorious starlight above only showed the contrast with the misery below. As they made their way through the alley, she caught glimpses of the main thoroughfares. People walked in clumps, looking around with suspicion at anyone they didn't recognize, the watchful eye of the black-uniformed security force watching everything.

 Some of them, a few of them, were on their side, waiting for the moment to cast off their uniforms and fight for the freedom of their people, but far more of them had voluntarily joined the Xandari. Too many. During the Interplanetary War, the United Nations had found friends on Mars and Callisto, a couple of attempts at counter-revolution in the early days, before things could settle down, but this was worse than anything they had ever experienced. Their war had been fought in space, away from the populated worlds, and while the stakes had been even higher than the Copernicans faced, at least their homes were never occupied, no enemy troops walking down their streets.

 The curfew came into effect before they had walked a hundred meters, a doleful bell ringing a warning for the few remaining passers-by to return to their homes at once, or face the risk of imprisonment or execution. As time had gone by, the crackdown had only worsened, as though the Xandari were almost trying to summon a revolt, press the people far enough that they would have to take repressive measures to stop them. Perhaps that was the idea, to give them an excuse to assume direct control.

 No lights shone on the three of them as they made their way through the darkened alleyways, briefing passing a wiry woman with a guilty look on her face, a robe pulled tightly around her. Someone else on an errand in the dark, something important enough that she was willing to risk detection. Duvall glanced at Orlova, shaking his head for a second before pressing on, moving into the lead.

 He didn't know who she was, either. Just another faceless figure, or a Xandari spy monitoring their movements. Orlova looked around, tensing herself for the shouts that would announce their detection, sirens blaring as they raced for cover, trying to pick her way across the occupied territory of the enemy.

 No noise came, and they pressed onto their target, drifting apart to avoid being watched. Kelot hung at the back, and Orlova glanced at him, inwardly shaking her head. At night, in camouflage, he didn't look any different from anyone else in the city. A little taller, more muscular than the norm, and perhaps with an excess of facial hair, but not distinguishable from anyone else. His people had never seen this world, and on Earth, his ancestors had been massacred by hers, wiped from history, only the intervention of a long-forgotten alien race saving them from extinction.

 And now they were fighting side by side, facing another enemy from old Earth, scattered by the same aliens on an inhospitable world that had forced them into a different evolutionary path, a philosophy that glorified the strong and condemned the weak. All of this was so damned unnecessary. The universe was endless, room for all, for a million colonies, ideologies and beliefs. There was no need for one power to force its will upon another.

 So far, she'd spent her entire career fighting to prevent just that, to give the Confederation, the Neander, the Koltoc, the Copernicans the right to choose their own destiny. A constant series of wars and battles, that seemed to have no end, to blur into one. She walked down these dark streets, following Duvall, and memories of past battles flooded into her mind, fought long ago on worlds dozens of light-years away.

 “Captain?” Duvall whispered, dropping back towards her. “We're here.” He gestured at a tall building, festooned with communications equipment. “Broadcasting House. The only place on the planet with the infrastructure they needed to operate the drones.” Shaking his head, he added, “I still don't understand why they didn't build their own set-up.”

 “Thank Alamo for that,” Kelot said. “At a guess, we've caused enough trouble for their fleet that they don't have the equipment or the engineers to spare. Do you know the place?”

 “My brother used to work here,” Duvall replied.

 “Used to?” Orlova asked.

 “I haven't seen him since the first day of the Occupation. The news agencies weren't in favor of giving in to the Xandari, and made that perfectly clear.” Shaking his head, he added, “They went off the air for twenty-four hours, and when they came back, all the faces were new, and they were suddenly supporting every move the Government made.”

 “I'm sorry,” Orlova said.

 “Pierre was a brave man,” Duvall replied. “Braver than me. I'll walk through the streets to fight the Xandari with a gun in my hand,  but the only weapon he had was his mind and his voice, and he used both well. He made his decision, and I've made mine.” Gesturing ahead, he said, “There's a rear entrance, top secret. Used to sneak out the unpopular guests. Which means the government knows all about it.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “And in about two minutes, some friends of ours are going to breach it.”

 “Then how do we get up?” Kelot asked.

 Moving over to a garbage bin, he pulled off the lid and started to pull out black-painted cables, replying, “We climb.”

 He passed around the climbing pads, hand-sized gloves covered in a special membrane designed to adhere to walls, then the ropes to attach them together, ensuring that one slip would not lead to instant death. They quickly prepared their equipment, tugging at the cables to ensure the fit was tight, and donned the gloves, Kelot shaking his head as he looked at the equipment with a critical eye.

 “Will these work?” he asked.

 “Each glove can hold up to two hundred kilograms,” Duvall said. “I've used these myself, climbing up in the hills. Just don't move too quickly, and make sure that you're hands are in contact with the side of the building at all times. If someone drops, anchor on as best you can. It's a long way down.”

 Nodding, Orlova led the way down the alley, waiting for the ear-splitting siren to herald the distraction. A moment later, the dull wail echoed through the streets, and she heard the familiar crack of gunshots reverberating from the walls, shouts as guards chased intruders, the noise of engines starting up. Overhead, lights danced around, the Xandari drones joining in the action.

 “Now,” Duvall said, and they raced towards the building, gambling on the distraction of the guards. A camera tracked across them, and Orlova froze for a second, before Duvall flashed a toothy grin at her, shaking his head. He didn't seem to care about the surveillance, and with her heart sinking, she chased after him, placing her hands on the side of the building, confirming that the gloves worked as advertised.

 As she started her ascent, she longed for the low gravity of Mars. There this would have been simplicity itself, but here she felt as though a mighty force was dragging her down, her arms rapidly tiring as she cautiously climbed, hand over hand. She quickly moved into a routine, releasing one hand, reaching up to slam it into place, testing it before dragging herself up, then releasing the other hand to repeat the process.

 She made the mistake of looking down, and shook her head. It seemed as though they had traveled no distance at all, that they still had a long way to go. Figures scurried around, looking for intruders, but here their carefully applied camouflage came to the fore. Anyone with infra-red detectors would spot them in a second, and they climbed past a second camera, the lens once again focusing on them. Kelot moved to the side, ready to swipe it away, but Duvall shook his head.

 “Leave it,” he said. “That will attract too much attention.”

 “They'll be waiting for us,” Kelot said, shaking his head.

 “No, General. Trust me.”

 “Let it go,” Orlova said, looking at Duvall as he climbed on. If this is a trap, he was going into it with them, though fears of treachery started to fill her mind. Duvall had plenty of chance to turn them in, was responsible for her escape in the first place, but the Xandari had played enough tricks that she couldn't be certain of anything.

 At least they could now see their progress, and though her arms were tired, she was settling down into the motions of climbing, Kelot grunting away behind her, struggling to rise. Even Duvall was growing weary as they made their way to the topmost level, carefully swinging past an antenna complex, which jutted out from the side of the building.

 “Careful. If we hit that,” Duvall said, panting, “and half the city will lose their holovision. Not a good way to gain public support.”

 Finally, they reached the roof, and tumbled over the guardrail to the top of the building, a guard waiting for them with a rifle at the ready. Orlova looked at Duvall accusingly as the rebel pulled off his gloves, reaching across the shake the guard's hand.

 “What is this?” Kelot asked.

 “A friend,” Duvall replied. “Until two minutes ago, he was manning the cameras.”

 “Which have just had a rather serious malfunction,” the guard added. “Serious enough that I'll be coming with you when this is over.”

 “Haven't I see you before?” Orlova asked, looking over the somehow familiar face of the guard. 

 Red-faced, the guard replied, “Raul Alvarez.”

 “The mob,” Kelot said. “The one that attacked the church during the wedding.”

 Nodding, Alvarez said, “I'm afraid so.” Looking down at the floor, he said, “If this is the only way I can make up for that, so be it. I was worried that the Koltoc were planning to bring Copernicus into their dominion, but the Xandari are a million times worse.”

 “Can we talk about this some other time?” Duvall said.

 “One level down,” Alvarez said. “The way I came is clear, but we've got to move quickly.”

 “What are we waiting for?” Kelot said, pushing ahead to the door. He raced down the stairs, Orlova behind him, weapons at the ready. The time for stealth was passed, and in a few seconds, everyone in the building would know what they were doing. Speed was all that mattered now.

 The stairwell opened up into a corridor, the guard snapping alert as they approached, raising his pistol a second too late as Kelot opened fire, his bullet slamming into the guard's shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. Sirens sounded everywhere, and Orlova sprinted forward, Duvall right behind her, sliding into the control room before the hatch could close.

 Two technicians turned at their approach, a Xandari standing behind them, reaching for his pistol. Duvall's gun barked a trio of shots, one for each of the technicians and the third into the Xandari, sending him reeling, his pistol still in his hand. Orlova fired twice at point-blank range, into the neck of the alien foe, and finally, he dropped to the ground, his twitching body gasping its final breath.

 She reached down for the pistol, her eyes widening. That was Triplanetary issue, a plasma pistol, and fully charged. Snatching it from the floor, she looked at the control panels, Duvall moving in ahead of her, pushing the body of one of the technicians out of the way.

 “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

 “Crash all the drones. Cut their engines and let them fall.”

 “I can wreck the systems, as well.”

 “Let me worry about that.”

 Gunfire echoed from outside, Kelot shouting a curse as a fusillade of shots rang out. She looked at the cable, looped over Duvall's shoulder, and carefully pulled it away, holding it in her hands. He'd made certain they had enough, a good ninety feet. She did a quick mental calculation, then nodded in approval, securing the cable to a structural beam in the ceiling, giving it a hard tug to make sure it was secure.

 “What are you doing?” he asked.

 “Never mind for the moment. How long?”

 His hands rattled across the keys, and he replied, “I've got to override the safety controls. They've got systems to stop me doing just this.” With a grin, he depressed a button, then said, “That should do it.”

 Orlova looked out of the window, spotting a drone orbiting overhead, and smiled as it rapidly began to drop, hurtling out of the sky like a meteor, smashing into the street below. All across the planet, that would be happening, the silent eyes in the sky shut, at least for the moment.

 “Having trouble out here,” Kelot said, his words punctuated by gunfire. “They're coming at us from both sides now. How long?”

 “Pull back,” she said. “Get in here on the double.” She gestured for Duvall to stand behind her, then raised the plasma pistol, cutting the power down to minimum. “Close your eyes, and get ready for the blast.”

 She squeezed the trigger, and a rippling green flame raced from the weapon, slamming into the control console, the burst of heat reducing it to a pile of wrecked junk, unrecognizable and definitely irreparable. Duvall looked at the remnants of the console, his eyes wide, then looked at the gun.

 “I want one of those,” he said, shaking his head.

 “The fun hasn't started yet,” she added, as Kelot charged into the room, Alvarez behind them, covering the door. Turning to the far wall, she ramped up the power switch as high as she dared, then fired again, a second pulse ripping through the concrete, sending an eruption of shards flying to the street. Tossing the cable through the hole, she peered out, watching it fall. Only a few meters short of the ground, close enough to do the job.

 “Get going,” she said. “You first, Duvall.”

 Ripping a piece of material from his sleeve, he quickly wrapped the fabric around his hand and swung out of the room, sliding down the cable as rapidly as he dared. Kelot followed, looking at the wall with amazement, with Alvarez reluctantly looking at the cable, glancing back at the door.

 “Move,” Orlova ordered. “I've got this.”

 As the guard tumbled down the cable, she turned the pistol to the door and fired, tearing a hole in the floor and setting the walls outside on fire. The approaching figures recoiled from the blast, and she turned with a smile, grabbing onto the cable and sliding down it, gripping tightly to ease her fall, her hands hot from the descent. She dropped to the ground, knees buckling as a hand grabbed her, Kelot helping her back to her feet.

 “Not a bad exit,” he said, gesturing up, and she saw smoke billowing out of the top level of the building, the wail of sirens sounding as the fire brigade responded to the attack.

 “Come on,” she replied. “Let's get out of here. I really don't want to be on the morning news.”

Chapter 9

 Salazar watched the screen, frowning at the black display. He'd selected their target system based on what had seemed at the time to be a watertight series of assumptions, but the five days of hendecaspace transit had weighed down upon him, and more than once he'd found himself going back through the analysis again, second-guessing his decision, trying to find reasons that he might be wrong. Not that it would make any difference if he was, not at this stage. The attack was to begin in ten days. Five days for dimensional stabilization, and one long jump to Copernicus, right at the limit of their range.

 “As soon as we clear the egress point, Midshipman, I want full speed,” he told Maqua, sitting at the helm.

 “Aye, sir. Course already plotted for maximum acceleration and random walk pattern. We should be clear of any defense system in seconds.”

 “Hooke, I want you watching that electronic warfare console. If anything launches, you'll be the only protection we've got, and one hit could wipe us out.”

 “No pressure, then,” the hacker replied with a wry smile. “I'll do what I can, sir, but with only seconds to respond, it's going to be touch and go.”

 “Granted,” Salazar said.

 “All decks are clear for action,” Foster added, turning from her console. “Missiles ready for launch, set for defensive fire.” Shaking her head, she added, “Though that won't do us much good if they get a salvo in the air when we arrive.”

 “Ten seconds, sir,” Maqua said.

 “You have the call, Midshipman,” he replied.

 “Aye, sir, I have the call.”

 A blue flash lit the bridge as the ship burst through the egress point, warning sirens sounding across the deck as Random Walk's engines roared, sending them hurtling into the system. Half a dozen targets tracked across the sensor display, Neander ships in orbit around the world below, two of them positioned to cover the egress points.

 “Missile satellites!” Spinelli said. “Looks like we're coasting right through them, sir. No problem.”

 “We're being hailed, Captain,” Weitzman added. “Colonel Skeuros. He seems to be under the impression that his people are in command of this ship.”

 “Do nothing to disabuse him of that notion until we are well clear, Spaceman,” Salazar replied. “Keep us moving, Maqua. Full evasive course.” He watched the screen, waiting for the trajectory tracks to change as Random Walk raced for orbit. Just as they cleared firing range on the missiles, one of the Neander ships altered course, coming in towards them at full burn.

 “That didn't take long,” Foster said. “Firing range in three minutes.”

 “You can answer Colonel Skeuros now, Spaceman,” Salazar said, sitting back in the command chair. The familiar figure of the Neander pirate appeared on the screen, a scowl on his face, a group of uniformed officers standing behind him. He wasn't on the bridge of a ship, instead sitting a conference room, evidently in the middle of a meeting.

 “Lieutenant Salazar,” he replied. “What happened to the crew of Random Walk?”

 “Dead in the battle or serving elsewhere in the fleet,” Salazar said.

 “I see,” he said. “And your purpose in coming here?”

 “Does it matter?” one of the Neander in the background said. “They've found us, and we can't take the risk that the Xandari will attack. We've got to shoot them down, before they can leave the system.”

 “They can't jump for five days, Major,” Skeuros said. “How about it, Lieutenant.”

 “We're putting a second task force together to fight the Xandari,” Salazar replied. “We have a battle plan that we are convinced will work...”

 “Just as at Copernicus?”

 “We were betrayed, Colonel, as you very well know, and if it hadn't been for the treachery of the planetary government, we would have won that fight.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “We need your ships if we are to have any chance of victory.”

 “That's our ship,” another voice said. “Stolen from our people.”

 Shaking his head, Skeuros replied, “No. Absolutely not. I cannot put my people at further risk.” Turning to the rear, he said, “I will not shoot them down, though. Lieutenant, you must understand my position.”

 “At least give me a hearing, Colonel, face-to-face. I think I've earned that much.” Behind Skeuros, one of the Free People, now wearing the makeshift uniform of the Consortium, looked down at the ground. “Just two of us, nothing more. We'll abide by any decision made there.”

 Shaking his head, Skeuros replied, “It's a waste of time, Lieutenant.” 

 “I've got five days to waste, Colonel, before we jump back into the fight.”

 One of the Neander looked ready to protest, but Skeuros nodded, and replied, “We'll expect you in a few moments, Lieutenant. Skeuros out.”

 “It's a trap,” Foster said, bluntly. “He'll take you prisoner and hold you as a hostage, force us to turn over this ship, maybe imprison us.” Shaking her head, she added, “Let me go in your place, sir.”

 “They agreed to see me, Val,” he replied. “I've got to go.”

 “You'll need a pilot,” Maqua said, a smile on his face. “I volunteer.”

 Salazar reached up for his eye-patch again, resisting the urge to scratch it, and replied, “Very well, Midshipman. Go and get the shuttle ready for launch. I'll be down in a minute.” As the helmsman bustled from the room, he turned to Ryan, standing at the rear of the bridge, and said, “You're in command until I get back.”

 “Pavel...”

 “If I'm captured, do whatever is necessary to get clear of the system. No heroics, Mike, and I mean it. You'll be needed at Copernicus. If I'm captured, I'll find some way to get clear. Understood?”

 “We can't just abandon you,” Foster said.

 Rising to his feet, he looked at her, and replied, “Yes, you can. That's an order, Sub-Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” she said, sullenly, turning back to her console.

 “Relax,” he replied, with a certainty he didn't feel. “I know what I'm doing.”

 “I hope so,” Ryan said, as Salazar walked off the bridge, making his way down the long corridor to the shuttle dock. He looked down at the gun at his belt, then unbuckled his holster, leaving it resting on the command chair. If there was a settlement down there, the population must number in the thousands. He wasn't going to shoot his way out of this one.

 Maqua was already settled in the cockpit as he climbed into the shuttle, the hatch sliding shut as it dropped down through the elevator airlock in the cramped landing bay. For once, he was grateful not to fly. Somehow, he had to convince them to risk everything to fight the Xandari, and try as he could, the words just didn't come.

 The shuttle dropped clear of the ship, engines roaring to toss them away, hurling them towards their target, and he looked down at the planet below. It wasn't much of a place to build a home, but its very anonymity provided a measure of safety. Had the roles been reversed, had a desperate Skeuros arrived at his colony, trying to convince him to risk the safety of his people in a fight that would be next-to-impossible to win, he doubted his response would have been any different.

 He looked down at his datapad, skimming through the battle plan once again, just as he had countless times on the ride out. There were a lot of assumptions implicit in the outline, far more than anyone involved was comfortable with. They needed an active resistance on the surface of Copernicus, one able to launch a full-scale uprising on the eve of their attack, and they needed more ships than they had. Three ships, four counting the patched-together Random Walk, just wouldn't be enough for the job, even if everything else worked perfectly.

 And yet, he knew that regardless of the odds, he was going to try anyway. Even if the Neander refused to help, even if he would be flying alone, he'd still make the attempt. Too many of his comrades were depending on him, and one way or another, he would find a way not to let them down.

 The shuttle rocked as it bit into the thin atmosphere, curving down towards the settlement below, following a homing beam. He looked down across the wasteland below, a deep ocher desert marked with mountains and craters, a geologic battlefield that would be a treasure trove to a science team.

 A memory danced in his head, from his first assignment to Alamo, when the original mission of exploration had been outlined. That had been hijacked by the Xandari, almost as soon as it had begun, but he still longed to explore the stars. There were wonders out here to find, once the war was over.

 “Coming in for landing, sir,” Maqua said. “Looks like a bank of surface-to-air missiles is tracking us all the way done. I've fired the data up to Random Walk for analysis.”

 “Nice welcome,” Salazar replied. “Take it easy on landing, and don't make any sudden moves. I don't think we want to give them any ideas.”

 “No, sir,” the young officer said. Salazar looked over his shoulder, watched him working the helm, and for a second saw the boy he had been when first they'd met, only months before. It seemed so unfair to throw him into the fight, so young. Under other circumstances, he'd have been at the Academy, his only concern his class ranking, not wondering whether he would be alive in the morning. He'd grown up, far too fast. As had they all.

 The landing jets roared, the shuttle settling into position next to a wide, low dome, a docking collar reaching out towards them as the engines faded away. He looked out of the window, the wind kicking dust all around, dropping it in sheets onto the deck. Abruptly, the hatch opened, a pair of Neander stepping through it, both of them armed.

 “Come with us,” one of them said. “The Council is waiting for you.”

 “Midshipman, lock up the ship, and...”

 “Both of you,” the Neander added. “We will take care of our shuttle.”

 “I see,” Salazar said, with a smile. “Looks like we've got a reservation for two, Midshipman. Though I'm not that happy with the service so far.”

 “This way,” the grim-faced figure replied, and the two of them followed the guards down the tunnel, glancing up at the security cameras tracking their every move. Behind them, the shuttle's hatch slammed shut, removing their only means of escape, and Maqua glanced back, shaking his head.

 “Relax,” Salazar said “We'll be fine. We're just here to talk.”

 “That's up to the Council,” the guard replied. He paused, turned to Salazar, and said, “My family is here. My mother, my wife, two children. We're not going to place all of them at risk because of your war.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Shall we get on with this? As you said, the Council is waiting.”

 “Leave it, Rai,” the other guard said. “Let's just get them to the Colonel.”

 “Sure,” Rai replied, shaking his head. “Sure.”

 Without another word, they walked through a cavernous storage dome, loaded all the way to the ceiling with crates, cylinders and bags, the smell of exotic spices filling the air where one had cracked open. At the far end, a light shone through an open door, and inside a group of Neander sat, two vacant seats facing them. Colonel Skeuros sat in the middle, Major Ingros to his right, nodding curtly at Salazar as he entered.

 “Thank you,” Skeuros said to the guards. “Wait outside.” As the door closed, he added, “Lieutenant Salazar, I don't believe you know Major Dhonkos and Major Krawok.”

 “My pleasure,” he replied, taking the nearest seat.

 “You wanted an audience,” Skeuros said. “Here you are.”

 “I don't see why we're going through with this charade,” Dhonkos said. “That ship is ours, and we should reclaim it. The crew can be returned to Testament Station and make their own way home.”

 “I'm surprised you haven't suggested they be shot,” Ingros replied. “To protect the secret of this planet.” Shaking his head, he added, “That ship is in pieces, Major. Putting it back together again wouldn't be worth the labor.”

 Nodding, Dhonkos said, “Yes, a ship that we needed to protect ourselves, now worthless scrap metal. The fate of our people...”

 “I'm sorry,” Salazar interrupted, “but I was under the impression that I was here to press the case for you to join the attack force fighting the Xandari, not listen to the rantings of the local demagogue.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Please, call us back when he's finished. I've got more important things to do.”

 Red-faced, Dhonkos replied, “Just wait a damn minute...”

 “Major,” Skeuros said. “He is quite correct. Make your case, Lieutenant. I will say that I am minded to allow you to go on your way, on the condition that the astrographic computers on your ship are purged of all data other than that of your destination first. I would even be willing to allow you to call for volunteers from our people, but I do not see that we can do any more.”

 “Your people are going to die,” Salazar said, bluntly. “Not today, perhaps, but sooner or later, the Xandari will find you, and you will have a single choice. Slavery or death. Which is it to be?”

 “They'll never find us,” Dhonkos said, “and we have enough supplies to last for...”

 “Forever?” Salazar asked. “Because that's what we're talking about once they've taken Testament Station. Sooner or later your ships will have to go raiding again, and as soon as the Xandari control this area, they'll search every star, every world until they find you.” A smile on his face, Salazar added, “Besides, I found you easily enough.”

 “Just another good reason why we shouldn't let you leave,” Dhonkos replied. “The Xandari won't bother with an outpost this small, and we heard enough about the strength of the Triplanetary Fleet. If the two of you smash each other to pieces, we will survive long enough to regain our strength in this region.”

 Looking at his counterpart, Ingros said, “That does it. Red Avenger flies with Random Walk. You might be willing to sit back and watch while people die for you, but I'm not. You've got one ship, Lieutenant, for whatever it is worth.” 

 “We can't spare you,” Skeuros said. “Already our squadron is diminished.” With a sigh, he added, “We made the attempt, Lieutenant, and we fought with the rest of you for Copernicus. And we lost. That defeat cost me two ships, and more than a hundred crewmen. We simply can't risk a second attack. I'm sorry.”

 “I can send my Weapons Officer to assume command of Red Avenger,” Dhonkos suggested.

 “You can try, but my crew will send him back in pieces,” Ingros replied.

 “Sooner or later, the Xandari will come,” Salazar pressed. “The only chance we have to stop them is right now. They're vulnerable. If we beat them, then their fleet is broken. They're brought forward their last reserves.”

 “After destroying ours,” Skeuros replied. “I'm sorry, but my decision is final.”

 “No,” Maqua said, rising to his feet. “No, it isn't. What do you think you are going to do, rotting away here on this piece of dirt. Say you do survive, just as you said, and that the Xandari leave you alone. Then what? You haven't got the resources to do anything but survive, each generation with less and less until the last few savages die out when something breaks, fifty or a hundred years from now. The Xandari aren't just going to go away, not unless we stop them.”

 “Midshipman…,” Skeuros began.

 “You've had your say,” Maqua said. “They hold thousands, hundreds of thousands of Neander as slaves. Don't you owe them something, as well? Or are you just going to sit here, rotting away as your ships fail one by one, looking up at the sky in fear.” Pointing at the roof, he added, “Those stars are ours, damn it. They don't belong to the Xandari. Your grandchildren can be part of the greatest civilization ever known, but you'll throw all of that aside because you're too afraid of losing what you've got.” Stepping forward, he added, “And you don't have anything to lose, Colonel. Just a collection of leaky domes on a burned-out cinder, and a death sentence for your children.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “To hell with all of you! We'll go anyway, with anyone who will come, and we'll beat those bastards off, and you can just stay here and rot.”

 “He's right,” Ingros said. “He's right, Colonel, and you damn well know it.”

 “Renegade will join you,” the hitherto silent Krawok added.

 “This is insanity,” Dhonkos replied.

 “Why don't you ask your people?” Salazar said. “See what they want. Or are you afraid of what they might tell you?”

 “My ship will remain,” Dhonkos said. “I care about our families.”

 “Then you will remain alone,” Skeuros said. “We're with you, Lieutenant. I'll throw five more ships into the fight for you.” He paused, then added, “If this goes wrong, then everyone on this planet is as good as dead. You understand that.”

 “I do,” he replied.

 “This is a mistake,” Dhonkos said.

 “Possibly, but the Midshipman is right.” He looked around the dome, and said, “This isn't a haven. It's a prison, and one we've locked ourselves into. Let's take the chance.” Turning to his colleagues, he said, “We've got a lot to do in the next five days, and I suggest we get started. I'll call a tactical briefing for tomorrow morning, Lieutenant, and you can outline the battle-plan.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “That's all, then,” he replied, and the Neander rose to their feet, walking out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Dhonkos glared at Salazar as he left, shaking his head as he departed. Maqua was still looking at the empty chairs, his face pale.

 “Did you plan on berating the Council, Midshipman?” Salazar asked.

 “Sir, I...”

 “You aren't even commissioned, Mister.”

 “I know, sir, and I'm sorry. I guess something just snapped. It won't happen again.”

 A smile crossed Salazar's face, and replied, “That's a pity. You did good, Sub-Lieutenant. Damned good.”

 Maqua returned the smile, then turned with a start, and said, “Sir?”

 “You aren't going to be any readier to wear the silver bars than you are right now. Go ahead and raise your right hand, and I'll make it official. Are you ready?”

 “Yes, sir,” he said.

 “Then repeat after me...”

Chapter 10

 “I still think we should have attacked as soon as the drones came down,” Cantrell said, peering up at the enemy base through the binoculars. “They could come back up at any moment.”

 “We might have taken out their surveillance cameras, but they've still got the Mark One Eyeball,” Cooper replied, sliding a fresh clip into his rifle, the only one he had. “We wait until dawn, and hit just as the light comes over the hill.” He smiled, and added, “Trust me, that's the best time to attack.”

 He glanced up at the base, checking his cover once again. The fields were littered with small outposts now, hastily constructed or converted out of whatever was to hand. Their target had been a farmhouse before the Xandari arrived, a wall hastily thrown up to protect it, three towers covering the approach. Without the protection of the drones to bring in aerial reinforcements, it was vulnerable, only a handful of guards to hold it, the locals certainly unwilling to come to the rescue.

 Looking at his watch, he frowned. Still five minutes before dawn, before the arrival of the dim half-light that would provide the best cover for their approach. The base might have been built quickly, but the Xandari had done a good job, burning out a hundred-meter killing field all around it. With a little luck, they could sprint across it in thirty seconds, but one man with a machine gun could bring their attack to a bloody end.

 “What's that?” Donegan hissed, pointing at a light moving across the sky, too fast to be a star. Cooper reached for the binoculars, focusing them on the object, tracking it over the horizon.

 “Shuttlecraft,” he replied. “Coming down from orbit. Knowing our luck, they've got replacement drones on board.” Shaking his head, he added, “That doesn't change a thing. Might just be usual rotation, anyway. There's been a lot of activity lately.”

 “You think they're getting ready to move out?” the medic asked.

 “Possibly,” he replied.

 “That's good, then,” McBride said. “Less Xandari for us to worry about down here.”

 “Our job isn't just to free this planet, Private,” Cooper replied. “We've got to pin that fleet down, cause enough mayhem that they don't launch their attack, not until our reinforcements can get into position to be ready for them.”

 “You think they're coming, sir?”

 “I know they're coming, Private,” he replied. “We've just got to make sure we're ready to provide a suitable welcome when they do.” Gesturing to his side, he said, “Spread out, and keep low. We'll be launching our attack in three minutes.” Turning to Cantrell, he added, “Grenades first, and run like hell itself.”

 “Understood.”

 He paused, then added, “This target is strategic, people. Don't pull any punches.”

 His squad nodded as they dispersed, preparing for their attack. He'd held them together as long as he dared, ready to pull back in some sort of order should something go wrong. Even now, he watched for the return of the drones, small lights in the sky ready to flash down on them, ending the battle before it could begin. 

 There was more than that. The people manning this base weren't Xandari, just ordinary people doing their job, just like him. Likely ones who weren't particularly trusted, to be exiled to an outpost such as this. Looking at the fort again, he shook his head. This was a symbol of things to come, a monument to future tyranny. Once the city had been taken fully under Xandari control, the countryside would be next, forts such as this used as the instruments of power projection to subjugate the farming settlements.

 Unless they could pull off a miracle and liberate the planet first. Always assuming that the enemy didn't instead opt to tip over the table and launch an orbital bombardment, wiping the colony from the map. He glanced up at the sky, just able to pick out the ships in orbit, slowly drifting through space. Any one of those warships could kill thousands of people at the whim of its commander, a thought that chilled him to the bone.

 It was time. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then raised his rifle, ready to fire, tensing himself for the race to come. As the first beams of light shone through the mountains to the east, the thundering roar of an explosion echoed across the plain, the grenade exploding off to the side, bursts of machine gun fire rattling through the air as the guards attempted to find their attackers.

 None of these men needed to be ordered into battle. They charged as one, leaping out of their chosen cover, single shots fired blind in an attempt to distract the defenders, racing for the paradoxical safety of the wall. He remembered reading somewhere about the need for a two-to-one advantage while assaulting a fixed position. As far as he could work out, the odds were reversed today.

 His feet slammed into the dirt, one step after another as he charged towards safety, not focused on anything other than reaching his target. A scream echoed out, he thought from ahead of him, hopefully a lucky shot from one of his troopers. There was nothing he could do if it was one of his own people, their only safety lying in the capture of the base.

 Shoulder-first, he slammed into the wall, looking through the gloom of the dawn to see three others scattered along the perimeter. He made a hacking motion with his hand, and they raced around the perimeter towards the gate. The machine guns futilely lanced out with bursts of ammunition in a bid to wipe out the attackers, while they ducked and dived for cover.

 He reached the gate first, reaching into his pocket for the last grenade, carefully placing it where it could do the most damage. A bullet slammed into the ground to his side, scattering mud through the air, and he looked up to see a sniper lining up his rifle, ready to take the shot that would kill him. Before he could manage it, the enemy soldier collapsed, hands clutching his chest as his weapon dropped forgotten over the side, falling to the dirt.

 “Blow that bastard, Cooper!” Cantrell yelled, waving her rifle. Reaching down, he pulled the release, tapping the button three times to set the timer, then ran back along the wall, trying to get some distance. If this didn't work, then the attack had failed. Already he could hear orders being barked inside, the garrison commander rallying his troops for the counterattack that would wipe them out. He looked across at the woods beyond, cover that might buy his attack force a chance of survival, but none of that would matter. Without the weapons stored inside, his army couldn't win. 

 With a titanic roar, the grenade exploded, sending a shower of splinters through the air as the gate collapsed, falling into the compound. A rattle of machine gun fire spat death into the newly-created gap, but they had the opportunity they had sought to break into the garrison, and he was determined to make use of it. Inching his way towards the ruins of the gate, he switched his rifle to semi-automatic, then held it away, out to the side, firing a burst at random into the compound.

 He didn't hit anything, but he didn't expect to. The first fusillade of bullets bought his squad enough time to get into position to do damage with the second, leaning out into fire to take carefully placed shots at their target. It was bloody, it was messy, and it was enough, and as the machine gun continued to bark, he brought down the gunner and the officer supervising the crew, another dropping to a well-aimed shot by Walpis.

 Slipping and sliding on the mud, he tumbled into the sole remaining member of the machine gun crew, the weapon temporarily out of service. Up on the walls, the guard posts were turning their weapons around, trying to aim them inside the compound to deal with the invading forces, but Walpis wasn't going to give them that chance, directing the squad to shoot the gunners before they could get into position, the watchtowers now only manned by the dead.

 “Wait!” the man in Cooper's arms said. “I surrender!” Up on the walls, the rest of the defenders were raising their hands, those who had survived the fury of the assault, and a group of unarmed men walked out of the old farm building, looking in fear at the soldiers surrounding them. Saltzman ran around from the rear, a beaming smile on his face.

 “We've got transport,” he said. “Two trucks, fueled and ready for a hundred-mile drive. More than enough.”

 “Walpis, take command of these prisoners, and have them transfer their stores into the trucks, everything we can carry. You know what we need.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, gesturing with his rifle at the enemy troops. “Come on, you bastards, you can work for your lives. Any false moves will be your last, understand? Now get with it.”

 Cantrell jogged up beside him, then said, “You realize they'll have sent out a distress signal.”

 “Probably,” he said. “I think we can count on twenty minutes. By then we should be a mile away, under cover.” He frowned, then added, “Though the sooner we can ditch the trucks the better. In this mud, a blind man would be able to follow their tracks.”

 “That's what's worrying me,” she said.

 “Sir,” McBride said, his head peering out of the farmhouse door. “Looks like this was their control center. Lots of communications equipment.”

 “Go help Walpis, Private,” Cooper said, making for the building, looking for a second at the resentful face of the man he had wrestled with over the machine gun, smeared in mud, his mouth twisted into a scowl. The face of a man who knew that vengeance was on the way, that the wrongs done to him would soon be reversed.

 Stepping into the farmhouse, he looked at the bank of equipment that had been dropped into position along one wall, furniture unceremoniously scattered around, dumped to make room for the alien technology. Cantrell ran her eye over it, then sat at the controls.

 “Stolen, Lunar Republic, I think. Give me a couple of minutes and I should be able to work something out.”

 “Move quickly,” he replied. 

 “You don't have to tell me twice.”

 While she worked, he walked into the kitchen, helping himself to a drink of water from the tap, cool and clean. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something watching him from the wall, and turned with a start to see a photograph of a couple, hanging over the counter, faded from age. A man and a woman, arms wrapped around each other, facing him with smiles on their faces.

 They'd lived here, maybe until the Xandari had arrived a few months ago, then been unceremoniously thrown from the home they had built to make room for their garrison, left with nothing but memories of better times. Assuming they hadn't simply been killed to tidy up loose ends. He looked out of the window at the ugly concrete wall, looming twenty feet high, already starting to crumble from the hast of the construction. It could be removed, destroyed, but somehow this place would never be the same, as though an indelible stain had been left on the walls. The stink of death was in the air, in the very fabric of the building.

 An engine started up, and he looked out of the side window to see the prisoners loading crates into the first truck, the precious weapons and ammunition that would arm the liberators of this planet, if all went well. Hatred and fear filled the eyes of the loaders, the watchful gaze of Walpis and McBride following their every move.

 “What are you going to do with them?” Cantrell asked, methodically throwing a bank of switches, panels lighting up and fading away at her command.

 “Leave them tied up outside,” he replied. 

 “Outside?”

 “My gut tells me that an airstrike is on the way. You think the Xandari will give any thought for collateral damage? They'll blow this place to bits if it gives them a chance of bringing us down with it, and to hell with anyone else they might kill in the process.” Shaking his head, he said, “Outside they have a better chance of living until someone sends people out on the ground to clean up the mess.”

 “When they will probably be shot for failing to capture us.”

 “You think I don't know that?” he snapped. “You think I don't know what we're doing here? They chose to fight with the Xandari, and they're going to have to live with the consequences of their decision. We can't save everyone, damn it, and people shooting at me drop right to the bottom of my priorities list!”

 She looked across at him, and said, “Sorry, Gabe.”

 He nodded, took a deep breath, and replied, “Me too. I guess all of this is beginning to get to me.”

 “It would have that effect on anyone,” she replied. “You aren't the only one getting stretched to breaking point.” Looking up at the panel, she added, “This wasn't exactly what I expected when I signed on.”

 “You never did tell me why.” Raising a hand, he added, “And don't fall back on that cover story. We both know it was made up, right from the start.”

 With a shrug, she replied, “Intelligence wanted eyes on this mission.”

 “Harper.”

 “Maybe I should have been more specific. Do you think Triplanetary Intelligence is one collective organization? It's more a collection of warring tribes, though we've all got the same basic goal in mind. Winter might trust Harper, but a lot of others don't.” She turned to him, and said, “We've got to win this war, Gabe, and we've got to do it quickly. You know that.”

 Eyes widening, he replied, “You're only just working that out?”

 “I knew it before I left, as did we all, but do you think everyone back home feels the same way? Lots of people calling on us to hang back, to wait and see what happens. The Combined Chiefs had to cash in every political favor they could find to get that mission assembled, and it wasn't an accident that Orlova and Marshall were the leading officers. Both of them are liked by the Senate, trusted by the President, and that's pretty damned rare.”

 “Just what are you getting at?”

 With a sigh, she added, “Let's just say that there are contingency options left to explore. Ones which might not have been on the table if I wasn't around.” Turning to him, she added, “We're going to end this threat, Gabe, one way or another, no matter what the cost.”

 “Games,” he said. “You and your bosses are still playing stupid games. People are dying, Lisa, dying by the thousand.”

 “Don't you think I know that?” she yelled. “That's what this is all about! Thousands dying here, but millions would die back home if the Xandari aren't stopped, and we're running out of time. Have you seen the intelligence projections of their shipbuilding capability? This is a race that takes the concept of Total War to new heights.” A light flashed on the console, and she said, “We'll have to finish this later. We're in.”

 “Into what?”

 “Planetary sensor network. I wanted to get a look at what was going on up in orbit. We're going to need better data than lights in the sky.” She frowned, and said, “That's odd.”

 “What?”

 “They're on the move, deploying for battle.” Panic flashed onto her face, and she added, “Damn it all, Gabe, the Fleet can't be attacking now, it's too damn soon! They'll be cut to pieces if they try it.”

 “Commodore Marshall's got more sense than that,” Cooper replied.

 “Does Harper?” She tapped a series of controls, and the largest panel flashed up a tactical display of local space, ships turning towards the hendecaspace point, fighters erupting from their ships. A series of numbers ran across the screen, dimensional instability building to the threshold, ready to open a window into hendecaspace just large enough for a ship to cross through.

 “That doesn't look very big,” he said, frowning. 

 “Not a capital ship,” Cantrell said, looking down at the readings. “Scoutship, transport, something like that. Maybe they're trying a distraction.” Tapping a control, she said, “It isn't going to work, anyway. Whoever's running this defense is no fool. Half the formation's heading for the second hendecaspace point.”

 “Here it comes,” Cooper said, and a new ship appeared, engines firing as the newcomer dived towards the planet, recklessly spending fuel.

 “Neander transport,” Cantrell replied. 

 Cooper turned with a start as his communicator chirped, the noise unfamiliar after months without a signal, and he pulled the device out of his pocket, Cantrell frowning as the channel opened.

 “They'll be able to find us,” she warned.

 “The Xandari already know where we are,” he replied. “This is Lieutenant Cooper. Go ahead.”

 “Major Molpa here,” the familiar voice said. “Harper sent us. We're...”

 The channel died, and Cooper said, “Major, I hear you, come back.” He paused, then added, “Come in, please.”

 “They've been hit,” Cantrell said, gesturing at the image of the freighter on the sensor display. “I don't think our friends in orbit are wasting any time.” Missile tracks streaked across the screen, homing in on their target. “They never had a chance.”

 “Wait,” Cooper said, as a target detached from the freighter, racing for the safety of the atmosphere. “They've launched a shuttle.” Nodding, he added, “They must have known what would happen when they arrived.”

 “Tracking trajectory,” Cantrell said. “Looks like they're coming down close to us. Within twenty miles, anyway. That first call must have been to get a fix.” Looking at him, she added, “The Xandari will have everything on the planet deployed to capture them.”

 “We'll just have to get there first, then,” he replied, a smile on his face. “Let's move.”

Chapter 11

 Harper looked around the cramped briefing room, anxious looks on every face as the battle plan played out on the screen behind her once last time, Colonel Kilquan glancing at his subordinates, all stoic-faced, watching the display. Next to her, Scott looked down at her datapad, poking at the readout, making notes she didn't need about a plan she already knew by heart.

 “Any questions?” Harper asked, as the last image, hopefully showing their fleet orbiting a subdued Copernicus, the Xandari forces wiped out, played on the screen. She knew it wasn't going to be that easy, and so did everyone else.

 “Just one, Lieutenant,” Major Tlodoc said. “Your battle plan is based on two elements of which you know nothing. The arrival of Neander reinforcements under the command, or shall we say the supervision, of Lieutenant Salazar, and an uprising taking place on the surface of the planet.”

 “We've taken what steps we can to set those elements in motion,” Scott loyally said.

 “Indeed, and should both elements fail, I know that we have an escape option prepared.” Reaching down to his set of controls, Tlodoc brought up one of the earlier images, showing the ships evading pursuit as they raced away from Copernicus, heading for a distant hendecaspace point to flee the system. They had the acceleration advantage, if nothing else.

 “What's your point, Major?” Harper asked, trying to force fire into her voice.

 “Simply this. What happens if one element succeeds, and the other fails. What happens if there is a successful uprising on the planet, but the Neander don't arrive. We don't have the strength to support them, even if everything goes perfectly down there.”

 “Aye,” one of the other Koltoc said. “And for that matter, what happens if the Neander arrives and there is no planetary support? They'll be out of position, stranded. It'll be impossible for them to do anything other than fight their way out, and at best they'll take heavy casualties on the escape. More likely they'll be wiped out to the last ship.”

 “We can't plan for every contingency,” Harper began, triggering a series of frowns and muttered comments from the Koltoc, “but under the first scenario, we will do as much damage as we can to the enemy fleet before retreating out of the system as planned, in the hopes that we might at least delay the Xandari fleet.”

 “And the other?” Kilquan asked. “The Neander arriving, stranded and alone?”

 “They're our allies,” Harper replied. “Daedalus will move to assist them with their evacuation, and you will proceed under independent command as you think best. I'll leave that to your tactical instincts and your conscience.”

 A thin smile crossed the veteran's face, and he added, “I wouldn't have trusted any other answer, Lieutenant.”

 “I'd like to talk about the command again,” Tlodoc said. “Given the disparity...”

 “I'm satisfied with the situation,” Kilquan said, glaring at his subordinate. “I command our squadron, and the combined fleet operates under Triplanetary command.” He looked at Harper, silently confirming that he maintained an effective veto under fleet operations. “Should the Neander arrive, do you think they will happily serve under our people?”

 “Hell,” the gruff Koltoc from before, “If they send everything they have, they'll outnumber us. I'm sure as hell not serving under a pirate, Major, and I don't care what short-term advantages you think we'll get from doing it.”

 “I was just suggesting...”

 “I know what you were suggesting,” Harper said, rising from her chair. “We've got a battle plan we can all live with, and a mission to accomplish. The starting gun has been fired, gentlemen. The transport arrived at Copernicus ten minutes ago, and the resistance...”

 “If there is one,” Tlodoc said.

 “The resistance has been told to plan their uprising to begin in five days. If we don't move in support, then a lot of people are going to die for nothing, and it will be our fault as surely as if we'd pulled the trigger ourselves. This mission goes forward.” Looking up at the countdown clock, she added, “Get back to your ships. We leave the system in ten minutes. And good hunting, to all of you.”

 “Likewise, Lieutenant,” Kilquan said. “We'll see you on the far side.”

 The Koltoc walked out of the room, Tlodoc still muttering to Kilquan, the latter brushing him off with a wave of the hand. Harper looked at Scott, sitting implacably at the desk, while the battle-plan. began to run through again behind them, silently running back over the tactical projections.

 “What do you think, Kat?” she asked.

 Shaking her head, Scott replied, “I think you'll get one more fight out of them, and lucky to get that.” Looking at the screen, she said, “This plan is risky as hell.”

 “I know,” she replied. “If there was any other realistic choice, I'd take it.”

 Pausing, Scott said, “We could have tried to punch through the blockade. Use enough ships to fight our way back to Thule.” Turning back to her, she said, “That's where Commodore Marshall will be waiting, assuming he hasn't already sent more ships forward. Help could be a lot closer than we think.”

 “We're committed,” Harper said. “If we don't move, and Salazar arrives alone, he's dead.”

 “I just want you to be honest about your motivations, that's all. There were other options we could have tried, though granted, in a strange sort of way this was the one with the least risk. Pulling back exposes a lot of systems to the Xandari.” Looking Harper in the eyes, she added, “If this fleet gets wiped out, it'll be a whole lot worse. Nothing to stop them until they reach the borders, and should they play it carefully, when they do hit the Confederation they'll have enough strength to win. The war will be over.”

 Taking a deep breath, Harper replied, “I know that. I also know that this is the last chance.” Punching a control, she brought up a flickering holoprojection, and said, “That just about says it all, doesn't it. All that stands between the Xandari and home is a thirty-year-old ship built for deep recon and two fleets who have spent more time fighting each other than ever they have the enemy.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “I wanted to go back, Kat. I wanted that very badly. To turn over all of this to someone else, someone better, more experienced, more suited to be a commander...”

 “I wouldn't worry about that,” Scott said. “You've done a good job, but this is a hell of a risk, and let's be honest about it. A lot of your friends have been captured, and others are at hazard. You want to ride in a rescue them.”

 With a reluctant nod, Harper said, “True enough. And more than that. I hated retreating, I hated leaving that planet to the Xandari, no matter what the local government said. We promised to defend them, and we broke our word, and the fact that we didn't have a choice just makes it worse.”

 Nodding, Scott said, “There's nothing wrong with that, Kris. I feel the same way myself, but there's a big difference. I'm not in command, and you are.” She paused, and added, “You have to start thinking about what you'll do if it goes wrong.” Pointing at the screen, she continued, “The odds of everything going according to plan are next to zero, and we both know it. If it all fails, what do we do?”

 “As I said,” Harper replied. “We break and run, doing as much damage as we can on our way out of the system, while making sure to bring as many ships out as we can.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Then, I guess, we run for home, leaving the shattered remains of our alliance behind us.”

 “Words,” Scott said. “That's all you've got. The question I need to ask, as your second-in-command, is whether or not you'll go through with it. The first attack was different. We were taken by surprise, betrayed, our best ship taken from us. Running was easy then. This time we're pressing the attack, and that's going to make it a lot harder to simply back away from battle.” Looking around the room, she added, “There are forty-two people on this ship, and another hundred on the two Koltoc ships. All of them are depending on you making the right decision when the time comes.”

 “I've done a great job so far, haven't I?” Harper said, shaking her head. She reached for the datapad, and said, “Have you seen the casualty report from the station? A hundred and thirty-four dead, and that's just an estimate. Only nineteen identified, and three of them from Alamo.”

 “Don't torture yourself,” Scott replied, reaching for the datapad. “There was nothing you could have done about it, short of surrendering. My guess is that the bastard who killed them knew that. This was his last way of hurting you, and you can't let it work. You can't.” Glancing at the names, she said, “Kris, you're in command. Whether you like it or not.”

 Looking up at her, she replied, “That's the worst part of it. I want to hurt those bastards, Kat. More than I've wanted anything for a long time. They've got to be stopped.” She paused, took a breath, and added, “And yes, I'm worried that it's clouding my judgment.”

 “If you're worrying about it,” Scott answered, “then I'd say that you don't have anything to worry about.”

 “I hope so,” she replied, looking back at the battle-plan., still flashing across the screen. “If you want an answer to your question, then I honestly don't know. Anything might happen out there. Not all the ships we're expecting could show up, the uprising could be delayed, might already be under way when we arrive.”

 “Granted.”

 “If we must, though, we'll run. If it looks like we can't win. Though I'll tell you one thing, Kat, we'll have to have exhausted all hope before I can give that order. If we have any chance of pulling this off, we'll make the attempt. There are too many lives at stake. And more than a hundred people have already paid the price for our victory. We have a responsibility to them. To make their sacrifice count for something.”

 “The dead don't care, Kris,” Scott replied, bluntly. “And if this goes wrong, they'll have a lot of company. Just promise me that you'll do what is right, that you won't let yourself get sucked in.”

 Pausing, she asked, “What would you do?”

 “What?”

 “If our roles were reversed, if Captain Scott was sitting with Sub-Lieutenant Harper, what would you be doing right now?”

 “In all honesty, we'd be well on our way home. I don't think I'd have had the guts to make this call, to throw everything back onto the table for another spin of the wheel. And perhaps that means there is a good reason that you're in charge.” Reaching over to her, she added, “I'm with you, Kris, whatever happens. All the way to the end.”

 Nodding, she said, “Whatever happens, I don't think Daedalus has much chance of getting through this in one piece.” Looking around the ship, she continued, “She's old, and she's fought well, but I don't think she's got enough fight left in her. We'll be the first ship in, and the last ship out. If I tried to change the attack order, Tlodoc would have enough ammunition to shoot the plan to pieces.”

 “I already thought of that,” Scott replied. “All escape pods have been checked, and I've arranged for the shuttle to be equipped for high-speed flight. I've already told Chief Kowalski to make sure that the damage control teams give that part of the ship top priority.”

 “That's not what I mean,” she said. “I'm not really familiar with all of this, but I do know that the Captain is meant to go down with her ship.”

 “That's a bit of an archaic concept, isn't it?”

 With a thin smile, she replied, “Not when the Captain is also the best hacker on board, and the best equipped to buy her crew the time they need to get away. I'll be the last one off, Kat, and I suspect that means I'm giving away my ticket.” Raising her hand, she added, “I don't mind. Really. I've faced death before and come out the other end, but things are a little different now. I want you to be at the helm of that escape shuttle.”

 Shaking her head, Scott said, “No way. You're lousy at tactical, and...”

 “And that likely won't be an issue at the end. You're the best pilot we've got, and besides, I need you to deliver a message for me. Two messages, actually.”

 “Demoted to communications technician, then,” she said with a wry smile. “I'll see that they get them. Hand-delivered.” 

 Harper reached into her pocket, and pulled out two labeled data-chips, pushing them across the table. “The first is to Captain Orlova. The second...”

 “To Pavel,” Scott replied.

 “Good guess.”

 “Foregone conclusion.” Scott scooped them up, then put them in her pocket. “You realize this is just a precaution, right? We're going to find a way to get through this, and I'll be handing these back to you at the other side.”

 “Sure,” Harper replied. “Sure.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Though if it comes to that, if it looks like everything's gone to hell, keep an eye on Pavel for me. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.” She paused, then said, “I guess you know what I mean.”

 “If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here at all,” Scott said. “Don't worry, I'll make sure he's alright. Count on it.”

 “Bridge to Briefing Room,” Armstrong said, her voice sounding from the ceiling speaker. “Ready to proceed to hendecaspace point.”

 “Can you handle it, Midshipman?” Harper asked.

 “Yes, ma'am,” an uncertain voice replied.

 “Then proceed on plan, Armstrong, and you have the call.”

 “Aye, Captain,” she said. “I have the call.”

 Scott looked at her, and said, “One of us should probably be up there.”

 “Probably, but I think Armstrong can handle it, and she deserves at least one chance to take the ship out for herself.” With a smile, she added, “Besides, she's third-in-command of this ship.”

 “God. A Midshipman that high in the command structure, even in a ship this small. That just about makes it clear how desperate we are, doesn't it.” She looked up at the battle plan, still endlessly repeating, and said, “We're worrying about nothing. It'll work.”

 “Yeah,” Harper said. “It'll work. It has to.” The display reached the point where the second squadron arrived, Salazar and the Neander flashing into the system, and she sighed. Until he jumped into battle, she wouldn't even know if he was still alive. Anything might have happened to him. Or be happening, right now.

Chapter 12

 Salazar dove to the floor, the bullet missing him by inches as it slammed into the wall. He looked up at the impact site, cursing under his breath. That could easily have breached the hull, a rupture that would have killed all of them within a matter of seconds. Maqua lay to his left, pulling a crate in front of him to provide cover, while he rolled to the right, trying to find shelter among the ration boxes in the main dome.

 “Damn it, we don't have time for this,” he said. Looking up at his hidden assailant, he yelled, “Who the hell are you? Xandari?”

 “We're not going to let you go,” a voice replied, dark and low. “We're not going to let you steal our only means of defense so our families can be butchered.”

 “It doesn't make a difference,” Salazar answered. “Whether we go or not, the Xandari will come, and if they don't, the Koltoc will. Someone will take this planet, and your people will still be enslaved. Your way just condemns them to years of misery first.”

 His only response was another bullet, crashing into the plastoform box in front of him, sending splinters flying through the air. A pungent smell billowed forth, some sort of spicy liquid seeping out onto the floor, oozing from a broken container. Salazar looked up into the shadows, trying to find the gunman, still hidden in the gloom.

 On instinct, he reached for his holster, then cursed. His gun was still sitting on his command chair, up on Random Walk, waiting for his return. Five days down here getting the Neander squadron ready to depart, and now, with minutes to go before their departure, some maniac was trying to kill him. It had to be deliberate timing, of course. If they missed the window, Harper would be attacking without support. At best, the mission would be a disastrous failure. At worst, they all would die.

 Glancing across at Maqua, he saw the Neander motioning them forward, and shook his head. Better late than dead, and if the two of them were killed here, the odds were that the squadron wouldn't depart at all. He looked around, trying to piece together a safe path through the stores, the towers of crates and contains a small city with streets and alleys.

 There might be a path, back and to the left, if he could move quickly enough. He gestured at Maqua to keep low, then to cause a distraction, praying that he'd managed to master his combat sign language classes, and received a comforting nod in response. Which didn't mean that he'd understood him, of course.

 Counting to five, he rolled to the left, rising to his feet in one movement, while Maqua hurled some of the contents of his container forward, packets that sloshed on the ground, scattering an orange sauce in brief fountains of color. A pair of bullets raced through the air, one of them rattling into his erstwhile barricade, the other running close enough that he could feel the wind on his cheek as he made his way to the safety of cover.

 Alarms should have sounded across the whole base when the gunfight began, but seconds into the duel, there was still no sign of any security, no indication that anyone knew he was in trouble. As he walked along the alley, he reached into his pocket, tapping the distress button on his communicator. The loud squeal drew another crack, wide and to his right, and he tumbled down into a sack of soft padding, losing his feet in the scrabble. A second gunman, covering their escape.

 Footsteps raced from the distance, and he heard a pair of shots echo through the cavernous dome. He struggled to his feet, and saw Captain Dhonkos walking towards him, gun in his hand and murder in his eyes. Salazar looked around, trying to find some way out, but the only paths led to danger, one back the way he came, one towards the approaching Neander.

 “If you kill me, I'll be avenged,” Salazar said. “My crew know something has gone wrong, and they'll have people down here in a moment.” 

 “I'm not here to kill you,” Dhonkos said, reaching into his pocket. Salazar flinched, and the Neander drew another pistol, turning it butt-first and passing it across. “I'm here to help. I just took out one of the assassins back there. Someone really doesn't like you, Lieutenant.” His face cracked into a smile, and he added, “Someone else, I mean.”

 Salazar took the pistol, checked the clip, then said, “You'll understand my suspicion.”

 “I think you're going to get a lot of my people killed, Lieutenant, but I don't intend to take up arms against my own to do it.” Gesturing behind him, he added, “We're wasting time.”

 Nodding, Salazar followed the Neander back around the dome, two more shots ringing out behind him, Maqua yelling a curse at the man trying to kill him. It was all he could do not to race around, try to draw the fire away, but there was room for a hundred assassins in here, skulking in the dark. Dhonkos glanced back at him, then turned a corner, stepping over a body on the floor, one hand forced open, his forehead a bloody mess.

 “Two of them,” Dhonkos said. “One each.”

 “Whatever you say,” Salazar said, and the two of them charged out of cover, firing a pair of wild shots to attract the attention of the gunmen, then more precise shots with their second bursts. Salazar caught his target in the shoulder, sending him dropping to the ground, and as an exchange of shots sounded out beside him, the other Neander collapsed, the light in his eyes fading as blood gurgled from a wound in his chest.

 The survivor was the guard that had greeted him when he'd arrived at the planet, now glaring up at him with hatred as he desperately reached for his weapon. Salazar kicked it away, then knelt down beside him, quickly checking him for weapons.

 “Why?” he asked.

 “You had to be stopped. Our people are more important. We can't risk everything for you.” With a cough, the guard added, “You'd have done the same in my place.”

 “No, I wouldn't.”

 “Skipper,” Maqua said, over by Dhonkos. “He's hurt. Bad.”

 Salazar turned back to the Neander, lying sprawled on the deck with a critical wound in his leg. The bullet had ripped into an artery, crimson blood spilling out, and he hurled himself to the side of the Neander, tearing a strip from his trousers to find a bandage.

 “Medical kit,” he said, looking up at Maqua.

 “Where?”

 “I don't know, damn it, find one!” Turning back to Dhonkos, he ripped the Neander's trousers clear, his eyes widening as he saw the wound, and tried to wrap the improvised tourniquet into position, the blood only oozing faster, Maqua frantically running along the walls, trying to find the medical kit.

 “Don't worry,” Salazar said, forcing a smile. “I've seen worse insect bites.”

 “Lying bastard,” Dhonkos said.

 “Here!” Maqua said, tugging a box down from the wall, pulling it open and dropping it next to Salazar. After six months, he'd picked up a few words of the language, and found what he thought was an anticoagulant, injecting it close to the wound. He rummaged for a bandage, Dhonkos coughing as his breaths grew fainter, less frequent.

 “Shock,” Salazar said. “Where the hell is everyone?”

 Footsteps raced down the corridor, and Maqua picked up a pistol, covering the door, dropping it gratefully as Lombardo sprinted into the room at the head of a group of Neander, Ingros at the rear, eyes wide.

 “Damn it, why isn't this working?” Salazar said, wrapping another layer of bandage around the leg.

 Dhonkos reached up to him, locking his wrist in an iron grip, and said, “Listen, damn it. If you're going to lead our fleet, you make that mission of yours work, you hear? Make the Xandari pay for every life lost, and smash them hard enough that they can never threaten anyone again. You understand?”

 “I understand,” Salazar said, letting the bandage drop to the floor. At last, a white-uniformed medic rushed into the room, but one look at the wound convinced her that it was hopeless, and she shook her head in defeat. “We'll make it work, Major. You have my word.”

 “I'll hold you to that, boy,” the Neander said, “I'll hold you to that.” He gasped, then slumped to the deck, his hand dropping away, his muscles limp. Salazar looked down at him, then across at the Neander's murderer, lying on the deck with Lombardo keeping him covered. Ingros pulled out his pistol, leveling at the man, but Salazar shook his head.

 “No.”

 “I'm being framed!” the guard burbled. “He killed Dhonkos, and my friend, when we tried to talk him out of this insane attack. He'll kill all of you to rescue his people! He doesn't care about us!”

 Ingros smashed the butt of his gun on the murderer, reducing him to blubbering tears, and said, “You still want this piece of crap to breathe?”

 “Blood for blood?” Maqua said. “We're better than that.”

 “Lock him up,” Salazar said. “After this is over, he can face trial for murder and attempted murder.”

 “Under our law...”

 “Leave it, Major,” Salazar replied, sharply. He gestured at the medic, and said, “You'll see him taken into custody?”

 “I will,” she said, nodding. “I will.”

 “Good.” Turning back to Ingros, he added, “Hold onto that rage, Major, and save it for the Xandari. They did this, one way or another, no matter who actually pulled the trigger.” Looking down at Dhonkos, he added, “Does he have family?”

 Shaking his head, Ingros replied, “His son died at Copernicus.”

 With a sigh, Salazar said, “I see.” Looking at the body, he added, “It takes a good man to put aside vengeance for the good of his people, Major. Maybe a better man than me.”

 “We'll take care of everything, Lieutenant,” the medic said.

 Nodding, Salazar turned to Ingros, and said, “We'd better get to our ships.”

 “Yes, sir,” Ingros said, his fingers still wrapped around the holster of his pistol as though he might change his mind about the guard at the last minute, before he finally turned and stalked out of the room, a cluster of the others following him. Maqua looked after him, shaking his head.

 “I don't understand,” the Neander said. “I just don't understand.”

 “Neither do I, and thank God for that,” Salazar replied. He turned to him, and asked, “No injuries?”

 “No, sir, I'm fine.”

 “Good. Let's get out of here, then.” He smiled, then added, “Damn it all, I think my eye's stopped itching.” The two of them walked out of the dome, the guard watching their every move, tracking him with his eyes. No one disturbed them on their way to the waiting shuttle, and they stepped through the airlock with no other interruption, no disturbance of the silence. Lombardo slid into the co-pilot's seat with Maqua at the helm, Salazar settling down in the passenger cabin by himself as they launched, heading towards Random Walk up ahead.

 Half a dozen other shuttles were in front of them, all taking the crews to their ships, ready to return to the fight. He glanced down at his datapad, calling up the tactical data, but all he could see was the dead body of Dhonkos, lying on the deck. So many people had died in this undeclared war, a trail of blood light-years long, and it almost felt as though those working to stop it were paying the highest price of all. A son dead, seven light-years away, the father dying at the hands of an assassin in what had been meant as their refuge.

 He looked out of the viewport at the cluster of domes, stretched out across the field, lights shining as the settlement receded in the distance, their engines kicking them up to their appointment with destiny. A haven that the Neander had withdrawn to, a hope no less desperate than the one driving them on to their goal.

 More people were going to die. He knew that, had known it from the start. The Neander forces were flying blind into battle, not knowing whether the Koltoc had been able to pioneer the way, potentially into a fully-operational orbital defense network that could swat them out of the sky in a second. Knowing that, they were all going in anyway.

 The shuttle soared out of the atmosphere, heading for a cluster of lights. The Neander squadron, with Random Walk resting at its heart, a position not merited by combat potential. Still, it was an impressive fleet, and as the points of light grew larger, resolving into shapes, a smile began to cross his face. They could pull this off. With ships like these, and crews of men such as Dhonkos and Ingros, they had a chance to beat the Xandari back.

 He glanced down at the world as the shuttle moved to dock. The dying Neander had passed the fate of his people into his hands, and he had no intention of letting him down. They were going to win. He knew it. But he also knew how high the price of victory was likely to be. Skimming through the file on his datapad, he looked through the ship status monitors, all of the vessels now ready for action. Even Dhonkos' Redemption, now moving to join the rest of the fleet under a new commander.

 With a loud clang, the shuttle locked into position, dragged up through the decks to the hangar deck, the hatch opening as the settled in place. Lombardo smiled at him as he stepped out of the cockpit, making his way down to the engineering deck to try and keep the ship together through one more hendecaspace jump. Taking a deep breath, Salazar followed, turning to the bridge, Maqua following with an eager gleam in his eye.

 “Don't be so ready to fight, Sub-Lieutenant,” he said.

 “I want to get this over with, sir,” the Neander replied.

 Nodding, Salazar said, “I suppose I can't argue with that.”

 The double doors slid open, and he walked out onto the bridge, Ryan rising from the command chair as he approached. The viewscreen showed the planet, dead-center, a side projection showing the formation of ships hovering in orbit, moving into position for transfer to the hendecaspace point.

 “Put me through to the ship,” he said, turning to Weitzman.

 “Aye, sir,” the technician said.

 “This is the Captain,” Salazar said, words that somehow came more easily now, determination filling his voice. “We're about to begin what will undoubtedly be our last jump. Random Walk won't live through the battle, and we'll be lucky to make it through ourselves. Hundreds of thousands of people are watching, and waiting, and counting on what we do next. They've already paid the price for our victory, paid in blood, and sweat, and tears, and our job is to make sure that they reap the rewards of that sacrifice.” Looking around the bridge, he continued, “I'm proud, very proud, to serve with each and every one of you, and I wouldn't care to go into battle with any other crew under my command. Good hunting.”

 “Hooray for us,” Hooke said, shaking his head, drawing a glare from Foster. Salazar shook his head, then turned back to the viewscreen. The hacker had his own way of blowing off steam, just like the rest of them.

  “How are we doing, Ryan?” Salazar asked

 “All decks cleared for action, sir,” he replied. “All systems clear for hendecaspace transit.”

 “All ships in the squadron have reported in,” Foster added. “We're ready to go on your command.”

 “Then by all means, Sub-Lieutenant, transmit the 'go' signal.” Sitting back in his chair, he added, “Maqua, set course for the hendecaspace point, maximum acceleration, and initiate hendecaspace transit at your discretion. You have the call.”

 “Aye, sir. I have the call.”

 In the midst of the squadron, it was an even more impressive sight than it had been from a distance, a mailed fist ready to strike the enemy. All of them knew the battle plan, and all of them were ready for the fight. He tried to settle in his seat, watching his crew at their stations, one after another. They'd volunteered for this battle, to a man, knowing the risks they were running.

 And yet the words of Dhonkos came back to him, sitting there on his bridge. A warning of the risks to the people on the planet below should they fail, should they lead the Xandari back here. The demand to make the gamble pay off, to provide the colonists with a future free of fear and tyranny. They were every bit as trapped as the people of Copernicus, even if it was by their own choice.

 “Our flag still waves proudly from the walls,” he muttered, “I shall never surrender or retreat.”

 “What was that, sir?” Foster asked.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Something another commander said on the eve of battle, more than two centuries ago.” Looking at her, he added, “Nothing.”

 “Hendecaspace in ten seconds, sir,” Maqua said.

 “You have the call.”

 “Aye, sir. I have the call.”

 With a blinding blue flash, Random Walk and her squadron rolled the dice. In five days, they'd find out whether the gamble had paid off.

Chapter 13

 The truck bounced across the landscape, Cooper struggling with the unfamiliar controls, Cantrell leaning out of the window, rifle in hand. Somewhere up ahead, the shuttle had come to ground, in what had appeared more of a crash than a landing, and he knew that the Xandari with their local allies were also racing towards them. He had the advantage that they were far closer to the landing site, but they had far more bodies to throw at the landscape, and total air superiority.

 Down by his feet, rocking from side to side, was the equipment that might mitigate that superiority, a trio of shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missiles that had been stored in the garrison. Given that the resistance had nothing to put in the sky, these seemed like overkill, but he muttered a prayer of silent thanks to the overzealous quartermaster who had provided the extraneous equipment.

 “Over to the right,” Cantrell said. She pointed in the sky, and said, “Looks like the drones are back. That's going to make this a lot tougher.” Glancing down at the missiles, she asked, “Want me to let fly with one of those babies?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “We knew we were going to have people looking over our shoulder on this one. Save them when there's something riding the ship you're shooting down.”

 Struggling with the steering, he dragged the truck to the right, dropping into a muddy dip that sent the wheels spinning, churning sludge in trails behind them before it shuddered back into life, jerking back onto solid ground with a series of worrying thuds. He could see a plume of smoke rising into the air, something on the ground up ahead, and his worst fears began to rise to the surface. All of this would be for nothing if all they found at the end of the road were the shattered remains of a shuttle, torn apart in an uncontrolled crash landing, and the message they'd traveled so far to deliver would die with them.

 “Someone's waving!” Cantrell said, firing off a round from her rifle in response. Cooper smiled, coaxing additional speed from the tired engine, peering up through the windshield again. There were more dots in the sky now, growing closer, and they were a long way from cover, even with the truck.

 Now he could see the figure, wearing a battered Triplanetary uniform. Others were scattered around him, pulling equipment out of the smoldering shuttle. He was amazed that anyone had survived the landing, the nose deep into the mud, engines raised high into the air, streaks of dirt running down the side of the ship. Any thought he had of using the shuttle for an escape was dead. Stamping on the recalcitrant brakes, he brought the truck to a stop and jumped out, running the final meters towards the survivors of the crash.

 “Major Molpa!” he said, shaking his head.

 “Lieutenant Cooper,” Molpa replied, reaching out with his hand. As the two shook, he added, “I'm very glad to see you.”

 “That's the understatement of the century,” Private Faulkner added, plasma rifle slung over his shoulder. He tapped the power plant, and said, “Busted in the landing, but I might be able to fix it with the right tools and a little time.”

 “The tools we've got,” Cantrell added, racing forward. “Time we don't.” She pointed up at the sky, and added, “We're going to have some extra guests for dinner, any moment now.”

 “Damn,” Molpa said, shaking his head.

 Gesturing towards the rising sun, Cooper replied, “We've got friends about five miles that-away, enough to fight off any attack. Any wounded?”

 “No,” Faulkner said. “Don't ask me how, but all of us came through that in one piece.”

 Frowning, Molpa added, “I think I should take a few more flying lessons at some point.”

 “It wasn't your fault,” Faulkner replied. “The ground was too damn muddy, and we didn't have any way of knowing that from the air.” Gesturing at the rear section, he said, “We brought some equipment, but only what we could carry. I figured we'd be on the move.”

 Cooper nodded, then said, “Let's move. We can talk when we get out of this.” Waving at the horizon, he said, “We'll go on foot. The truck's too conspicuous.”

 “Wait a minute,” Cantrell replied, snatching a case of rations out of Faulkner's surprised hands, then turning back to the truck. Cooper shook his head, then gestured for the rest of the group to gather round. Most of them were Neander, wearing the modified Triplanetary uniform adopted by the Free Peoples, with a couple of Espatiers who had escaped on Daedalus, eager to return to the fight.

 A loud roar came from the truck, and Cantrell tumbled out of the cab, missiles in her hands, as the vehicle burst into life, moving away from the shuttle, rocking over the landscape. She jogged to catch up, a smile on her face.

 “I thought I'd give the Xandari something to follow. Ration pack on the accelerator, and I tied off the wheel. It'll be a short life and a merry one, but it should draw at least some of them away.”

 “Come on,” Cooper said, leading the way, rifle in hand. Everyone in the party had at least some ground combat experience, enough that they knew to spread out, fanning across the landscape while keeping visual contact, heading roughly in the direction of the settlement ahead. If his orders had been followed, his wife would be waiting out there, along with at least a platoon of local militia, dug in and ready to defend. The city was an uncomfortable fifteen miles away, close enough to be a real temptation for the Xandari, and all he was doing was attracting more attention to them. Still, by now Walpis and the others should have arrived with the equipment they'd obtained at the garrison, and that should provide a nice surprise for any would-be attacker.

 He could hear the whirring of helicopters in the distance, churning through the air towards them. At any moment, they'd be in range with machine guns, able to gun them down with impunity, and he stopped, dropped to his knee and pulled his missile launcher from his back, resting it on his shoulder and setting up the gun-sights. These were of local design, not the lightweight Espatier issue they'd used before. Bulkier, and far less likely to hit their target.

 Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he lined up the cross-hairs on the nearest helicopter, then pulled a little to the left, compensating for the forward motion of the target, before squeezing the trigger. The recoil from the launch almost pushed him to the ground, and he tossed away the now-useless launcher, racing into the distance, the missile streaking through the air behind him. It was primitive, with only rudimentary seeking abilities, but his aim had been good enough for that not to matter. A ball of flame ripped through the sky, shattered fragments of the helicopter tumbling to the ground, blades flying off in all directions, narrowly missing a nearby drone.

 The other helicopters fell back, dropping out of range, and he smiled. They still had some sense of self-preservation, but it wouldn't take them long to think of something else. A few seconds later, doubtless after some frantic messages, the remaining helicopters raced to the side, forming a huge arc around them, careful to keep their distance but moving ahead of the column. They might not know for certain where they were going, but they could work out at least the general direction.

 Another missile raced through the air, from someone over on the right, and Cooper cursed the man who fired it, knowing that it was out of range. The missile streaked through the air, and his frown turned into a smile as the helicopters soared up into the sky again, reluctant to risk the missiles, uncertain of the distance between themselves and the launcher. Fear might buy them some time.

 He dropped into a gully, a trickling stream bubbling along the ground, and Cantrell moved in after him, her launcher abandoned, confirming his suspicions of who had fired the decoy shot. She turned, flashed him a cheeky smile, then pressed on ahead of him, leading the way through cover. They'd be rising up into a small thicket of trees in a moment, a good place for the soldiers to congregate to resist an assault. The land was flat in this region, only a few scattered woods and valleys to break the monotony. Excellent grazing land, but lousy for evading capture.

 Fortunately, the others seemed to have shared his thoughts on the thicket, and as he jogged into cover, he saw Molpa and Faulkner already in position, digging makeshift cover with their hands, scooping the dirt ahead of them to form a barrier. Faulkner still had his launcher, lying next to him, close enough to reach in a second, but was fully occupied preparing his position, waiting for the coming attack.

 The helicopters dropped down, safely out of range, and silence reigned as the engines spluttered to a halt. As Cooper frantically shoveled dirt, the Xandari moved in. He didn't have to see them to know what they were doing. His group were a well-armed, dug-in, experienced force, and most of the Xandari troops were ill-trained locals. They'd spread out, covering as wide an area as possible, slowly enveloping the troops inside. Once all retreat was blocked, they could close the net at leisure.

 He looked up at the tree cover, then glanced around at his squad. Nine in total, all of whom had fought beside him at least twice. He knew these people, and knew what they were capable of. The Xandari were taking a big risk just fighting them at all. Cantrell moved forward, dropping in behind a tree, and reached for the missile launcher.

 “Not in the trees,” Cooper said.

 She pointed up, to a gap in the cover, and threw a switch, at a stroke disabling all of the complicated equipment designed to allow the missile to home into its target, converting it to little more than an overly complicated mortar. Carefully resting the launcher in position, she squeezed the trigger, a burst of flame shooting from the barrel as the projectile raced through the trees, forming an arc as it dropped down onto the open fields, right into the middle of the approaching force.

 The explosion drowned out the screams, and Cantrell dropped, rolling in beside Cooper, crashing into him hard enough to almost knock him out of the cover he was carefully constructing. He could smell the smoke from here, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the trees, silenced by a trio of cracks from a pistol.

 “Good God,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “They're executing the wounded.”

 “Only the strong survive, remember,” Cantrell said. “Someone probably decided they'd give away the attack. Bastards.” Gesturing ahead, she added, “At least they know where we are, now?”

 “The Xandari?”

 “Our reinforcements,” she said, flashing a smile. “Your darling wife and the forty troops under her command, now lavishly equipped thanks to the Xandari's generous donation.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Her orders were to hold, not launch an attack.”

 Raising an eyebrow, she said, “Please, Cooper, you can't be that naive. Do you honestly think that she'll sit by and wait when a full-scale battle is taking place, what, two miles away? One that she knows involves her husband being ambushed by a superior force? The only question is how long they'll take to get here, not whether or not they're coming, and you know it.”

 “Sir,” Molpa hissed, ceding any claim to command based his superior rank with a word. “Movement in the trees, coming forward.”

 Cooper knelt down, raising his rifle, and fired an experimental shot. Their raid meant they now had ammunition to spare, and he heard a shout from one of the advancing troops, enough warning to expose his position to a second shot from Faulkner, a body falling out of cover, rolling on the ground, reaching for a wound on his leg.

 Three more troops advanced, obviously moving towards them, but Cooper ignored them, letting Molpa and his men handle them. They were a decoy, sent in either with orders to make themselves as visible as possible, or in the knowledge that their skills weren't up to the task of concealing them from observation. Three shots dealt with them, while Cooper looked to their rear, straining for any sign of movement.

 A crack. A twig snapping underfoot, somewhere behind him. He tapped Cantrell on the shoulder, and the two of them turned, weapons readied. Nothing seemed to be moving out there, whoever had made the noise deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. With the flick of a control, he switched his rifle to full-automatic, then gestured at Cantrell, who nodded in response.

 Flames licked from the barrel of his rifle as a hundred bullets ripped through the air in one short burst, spread out across a dozen degrees of arc, all in the general direction of the approaching target. He knew there was little chance of actually hitting him, hadn't expected to, but the movement the burst of fire yielded gave Cantrell the chance to put a well-placed shot into the infiltrator, sending him collapsing to the ground, clutching his chest.

 Suddenly, all was silent once more, the enemy commander pulling back his forces. Cooper glanced around. A soft weeping cut through the air, the wounded soldier up ahead clutching at the wound in his leg, and he peered forward, trying to get a look at him. If he survived the battle, he'd live, though he might walk with a limp. Assuming the Xandari didn't decide to execute him.

 He slid a fresh clip into his rifle, tossing the old one away, then turned as a brief movement caught his eye, over by a fallen tree at the edge of the wood. Molpa had seen it too, reacting first as he fired a snap shot at the position, the bullet slamming into a tree, splinters flying to the floor. Cooper shook his head, then glanced at his watch. The next step was all too obvious. An attack from all directions at once.

 “We can't wait,” he whispered. “We're sitting ducks here.”

 “Agreed,” Cantrell replied. “What's the alternative?”

 “Go for semi-automatic, and run like hell,” he said, a smile on his face. Without warning, he sprinted forward, keeping low, bullets firing in all directions around him, giving his men a plentiful supply of targets on the edges of the wood. Beyond, he could see a dozen men setting up mortars, preparing to smoke them out, all excellent target practice as he ran his rifle across the position, the first squad falling in position, the others running for cover, leaving their weapons unattended.

 He dodged back into the wood, then felt himself falling, his foot trapped in a root, slamming to the ground and knocking all of the wind from his lungs. Pushing away, he started to crawl back into cover, the troops inside trying to give him supporting fire, but the Xandari forces were moving in too quickly, and he saw one of them with a smirk on his face, raising a plasma pistol to fire.

 Just as he pulled the trigger, a burst of machine gun fire ripped into his back, sending the warrior sprawling forward, the pistol waving into the air, sending a bolt of green flame ripping into the trees, a column of smoke rising into the air. Cooper turned, twisting around, and saw his wife charging forward, surrounded by troopers, swooping in to catch the enemy forces in the rear. It was over, and they knew it, and with their Xandari commander dead, the soldiers raised their hands in surrender, a mutual agreement that they had lost.

 “Good timing,” Cooper said, as Molpa raced forward, tugging him to his feet.

 “Just remember that the cavalry doesn't always ride over the hill in time,” Bradley said, snatching him in a bear hug. “Welcome to Copernicus, Major. Or should I say, welcome back.”

 Cantrell moved over, saying, “Corporal Walpis is rounding up the prisoners. What do you want to do with them?”

 “Lock them up,” Molpa said.

 Frowning, Cooper replied, “We don't have the resources to hold this many people for a long time, Major. We've been sending them back. Disarmed, naturally.”

 “You've got thirty, thirty-five people here, Lieutenant, and you're not going to want them on the other side when the big battle begins.”

 “Big battle?” Bradley asked.

 A smile on his face, Molpa replied, “Lieutenant Harper sent me. She and Lieutenant Salazar have put a strike force together, large enough to smash the Xandari in orbit and send them running for home.” He glanced at his watch, and said, “And the attack is scheduled to begin in a little under five days from now. Two squadrons operating in tandem.”

 Frowning, Cooper said, “How many ships?”

 “Eight to ten, depending on the Neander contribution.”

 “Capital ships?” Cantrell asked.

 “None.”
 Her eyes widened, and Bradley replied, “You've got to be joking, Major. The Xandari have three battlecruisers in orbit, and Alamo as well. There's no way ten, even twenty small ships could fight them off.” Shaking her head, she added, “If this is just the remnants of the last fleet, most of them don't even have combat fabricators.”

 “Quite right,” Molpa said. “That's why I'm here. My orders, with your help, are to take the Orbital Defense Headquarters. We're going to turn those missile satellites back on those bastards.”

Chapter 14

 “Your Lieutenant Harper is insane, Captain.”

 “Madam Mayor,” Orlova said, “I know that there are risks inherent in the battle plan, but it's the best chance we've got to overthrow the Xandari and restore civilian government to this planet.” She looked at her counterpart, sitting opposite her. It had taken more than a week for the civilian leader of the Underground to agree to meet with her, wise caution that the Xandari might have prepared a trap.

 Taking a deep breath, Mayor Dietrich replied, “You are aware what will happen if we fail, of course. Everyone on the planet could die. Hundreds of thousands of people. That is what is at stake here.” Folding her arms, she added, “I think we've all had ample proof that the Xandari are more than willing to commit any atrocity necessary to achieve victory.”

 Orlova leaned forward, holding her hands on the table. This was the only ranking politician who had not sided with the Xandari, the only hope they had of establishing a stable civilian government after the enemy had been defeated. More than that. Her voice would carry weight with the people, enough to sway at least some of the government troops to remain in their barracks, rather than risk a confrontation with the enemy.

 “This attack is going to take place, Madam Mayor,” she said. “I can't influence it now. Lieutenants Harper and Salazar are the ranking space-side officers, and the decision rests with them.” Raising a hand, she added, “Even if I wanted to, I haven't got the ability to call it off. In a little over twenty-four hours, a combined space fleet, Triplanetary, Koltoc, Neander, will be appearing up in orbit, ready to attack the Xandari.”

 Nodding, Father Flannery said, “They're willing to risk their lives to free us, Liz. The least we can do is move in support of their actions.” Shaking his head, he added, “Captain, if we do not rise, if we fail to provide the diversion your fleet needs, then the mission fails. Is that correct?”

 “Almost certainly,” she replied.

 “Then in all good conscience we have no alternative but to take up arms once again.” 

 The others looked around, waiting for someone to take the lead. Half a dozen senior figures in the Underground had gathered together, but Dietrich was definitely their leader, and that she had been the most reluctant to work with Orlova was not lost on her. She looked at the Mayor, at the steely determination in her eyes, and knew that she had failed to win her over.

 Shaking her head, Dietrich said, “The Underground has been committed to passive resistance up till now. A slowdown in the factories, sabotage of information control systems, withdrawal of labor from key facilities. I'm not sure that we're set up to provide the sort of assistance you're talking about.” Frowning, she added, “More than that, we don't have the communications network to pass the message on, not in time. We've kept our organization decentralized. Too many people died in the first days of resistance, betrayed by people they thought they could trust.”

 “You don't need to worry about that,” Orlova replied. “As it happens, I have a way we can broadcast to the people right now. A little surprise I left behind when we attacked Broadcasting House last week.” Raising her datapad, she said, “I checked the system this morning, and everything seems to be working perfectly.”

 “What exactly is the plan?” Duvall asked.

 “Lieutenant Cooper's army is positioned to launch an attack on the Orbital Defense Headquarters. Left to themselves, I don't think they have the force to pull it off, so we're going to have to start our uprising right here, in the city itself. The first step is an attack on the prison, liberate both the political prisoners and my crew. That will give us fifty, sixty trained soldiers to throw into the fight.” Looking around the room, she added, “Then we attack Council House, Madam Mayor, and install you as Acting President pending emergency elections.”

 “As simple as that?”

 “I very much doubt that anything about this plan will be exactly simple,” Orlova replied, “but in my experience, the greater the complexity of the plan, the smaller the possibility of success. Timing will be the most critical factor. We've got to provide a distraction at the critical moment, to throw off the enemy and allow the fleet to launch its attack. Once they've obtained orbital superiority, the war down here will be over.”

 “Estimated casualties?”

 General Kelot frowned, and said, “It's impossible to say. Dozens, hundreds, more than likely. I don't see how we avoid sustaining considerable collateral damage.”

 “And at any time, the Xandari might decide to destroy our city.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “They won't. Not until it's too late. They don't think that way.” She looked around the room, and said, “If there is any chance of holding this world and its industrial base intact, they'll take it. They're overconfident, and if this battle plan works, that will be our greatest advantage.”

 With a sigh, Dietrich said, “I don't agree, and based on that...”

 “I don't think you understand,” Kelot said. “We're not asking permission. Technically, given that you are wanted on charges of treason by the local government, you're just an ordinary citizen.”

 “If that's the case, General, then I don't see why we're even bothering to have this meeting.”

 Glaring at the Neander, Orlova replied, “This battle is going to be fought, Madam Mayor, and we're going to free this planet from the Xandari. The question is over what happens next. We're not out to annex this world, and you have the best claim of all the civilian leaders who refused to collaborate with the Xandari, even after everyone else did.” Looking her in the eyes, she added, “We need you. If you help us, the odds of success rise considerably. Without your assistance, it could all go wrong.”

 “Thousands of people,” Dietrich said. “Thousands of people will die because of a decision two of your junior officers made, without consultation, without any thought to seeking approval from the Underground, and you claim that you have no intention of annexing us.” Shaking her head, she said, “It would appear as though I have no choice but to co-operate.”

 “Thank you,” Orlova said.

 “Don't thank me,” she replied. “I think you're taking a risk, and I think that a lot of people on this planet are going to suffer as a result of the consequences of your actions. We'll fight for our freedom, lay down our lives to overthrow the Xandari. That isn't at question here. What is far more important is that you've committed us to a battle plan with odds I find marginal at best.” Shaking her head, she added, “I'll arrange for a contact to help you with Council House. We don't have many operatives there, but I should be able to manage something.”

 “Thank you, Madam Mayor.” Orlova paused, then corrected. “Madam President. I'm afraid that sometimes you've got to ride the long odds if you want to win. If it consoles you at all, the battle being fought here will determine the fate not only of this planet, but of every inhabited world for a dozen light-years. They'll be talking about the Second Battle of Copernicus for generations.”

 “I just hope there are people left to tell that story, Captain,” Dietrich replied. Her voice seemed to soften, and she added, “Don't for a moment think that I am not grateful for everything you have done for us, all the sacrifices that you and your crew have made on our behalf.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I have a responsibility to the people of this planet.”

 “Then what happens now?” one of the other leaders asked. “We've got twenty-five hours to get ready to mobilize more than a thousand people, scattered all across the city and beyond.” A frown spread across his face, and he continued, “We don't have anything like a cohesive communications network. Almost everything has been run with dead-letter-drops and word-of-mouth. I don't see how we make the required preparations.”

 Flannery said, “That won't be needed, Dick, and you know it. As soon as the fighting starts, they'll come flooding out onto the streets as a body. I don't see any of them standing back and waiting while the battle rages all around them.” Looking around the room, he added, “I'm more worried that too many people are going to respond to the call. A lot of people are getting mad about Xandari rule...”

 “Which is a good thing, surely,” Kelot said.

 “Not if it means people running into the streets with lacrosse sticks, ready to be killed by the first man with a gun they stumble across, it isn't.” With a sigh, he added, “I know we're going to have to accept some civilian casualties, but we've got to do everything we can to keep them to a minimum.”

 Orlova was about to respond, but a sound caught her ear, over to the rear of the room, something that sounded suspiciously like approaching footsteps, multiple pairs, heading in their direction. Boots marching on concrete. She looked across at Kelot, who nodded. The Neander had heard it as well. She reached for her pistol, hidden in her shoulder holster, and rose to her feet.

 “What is this?” Dietrich asked.

 “We're about to be raided,” Orlova replied. “Everyone get out of here, right now. That includes you, Madam President. I'll stay behind and hold them off.”

 “I'm with you,” Kelot added.

 “No,” Flannery said. “Without you...”

 “If you people can't free yourselves, then none of this means a damned thing! Get out of here, Father, and get the rest of these people on the move!”

 As the resistance fighters raced out of the hidden exit, Orlova kicked over the table, smiling at the irony, and ducked behind it, pistol in hand, Kelot by her side. Flannery waited for a moment, looking back as though ready to join them, then shook his head with a sigh and followed the others. The door led to a hidden ladder that would bring them to the sewers after a smelly descent, but they'd need a head-start to ensure their safety.

 “Any second,” Kelot said, pistol at the ready. “I've got exactly seven shots in this thing.”

 “Seven?”

 “Always like to test a gun when someone gives it to me. You can't be too careful.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova waited as the footsteps reached the door, stopping outside, muttered argument as the guards decided who would be taking the first step. She waited, taking deep breaths to steady her nerves. If she was going down, and the odds against her survival seemed insurmountable, then she was going to take as many of the guards with her as she could.

 The first guard smashed through the door, catching a bullet in his chest for his trouble, the armor-piercing round ripping through the toughened fabric he was wearing. As the man on the corpse breathed his last, his comrades surged after him, Orlova and Kelot expending their rounds on the invading horde, three of them slumping into a blood-splattered pile on the ground. For a second, she thought that they had beaten them back, but a cylinder soared into the room, bouncing on the floor, and Kelot raced out of cover in an attempt to toss it through the door, return it from whence it came.

 That was the opportunity the guards had been waiting for, and as a trickle of smoke erupted from the device, one of them caught Kelot in the leg, throwing the grizzled veteran off-balance, sending him sprawling by the men he had killed seconds before. Orlova hung back, waiting behind cover, three rounds left in her pistol. She glanced at the hatch, a smile on her face. At least she'd given the others enough time to get away.

 “You're throwing your life away for a gaggle of politicians?” an all-too-familiar voice said. “Give up, tell us where they went, and I'll only return you to your cell.”

 “That'll be a short stay,” Orlova replied. “In a few hours, all of this will be over.”
 “How right you are,” Commander Ryan, second-in-command of the government since the Xandari takeover. “How right you are. The only question is whether I kill you now, or whether you give yourself up. How many people do you want to take with you to the next life, Captain? By my count you have three rounds left.”

 She paused, then replied, “Tell you what. I'll cut that down to one as long as that one is you.”

 “No deal,” he said, and a second grenade flew through the air, this time spilling viscous green gas as it bounced from the floor. Her head began to swim as the gas took its effect, eyes blurring as she struggled to breath, peering out at the door as ghostly figures seemed to dance through it. She fired, expending the rest of the clip, the bullets smashing into the wall, then felt a hand reaching down to her, pulling her weapon from her hand and tossing it to the floor.

 “You won't be needing that, Captain,” Ryan said. Looking down at Kelot, he added, “Better take that savage along as well. We'll be wanting to interrogate all of them.” As Orlova struggled to remain conscious, he added, “And don't worry, Captain. We know all about your little planned uprising, and I don't think we'll have any trouble stopping it. You can relax.” Turning back to a white-suited figure, he said, “Knock her out.”

 “Wait,” she gasped, but the darkness reached for her, and she fell limp to the floor, her last sight Ryan's sneering face before her heavy eyes slid shut.

Chapter 15

 Cooper tossed the communicator to the floor, then stepped over to the flickering fire, looking up at the stars overhead. Everything was so simple up there, so much easier. He longed to step into a shuttle and go for a ride, to sail through cold, clean space and leave all of this dirt behind, the muck and mire of battle crushed under his boots.

 “What is it?” Bradley asked, stepping over to him, pulling her jacket around her.

 “Captain Orlova's been captured. General Kelot as well.” Shaking his head, he added, “I guess that settles the command structure down here.” He sighed, and said, “I get the hot seat, one more time. Not that this changes anything.”

 “What about the revolt in the city?”

 “We'll just have to hope that Father Flannery and whatever is left of the resistance leadership can pull it off without her. Ultimately, we've got the biggest job, anyway. Take and hold Orbital Defense Headquarters.” He looked around the camp, forty-five people preparing for the battle to come in the morning, checking their weapons under the supervision of their all-too-few non-coms, going over what passed for the battle plan once again.

 “They're a good outfit, Gabe,” she said. “Besides, this time I'll be with you, instead of hovering out in space waiting for the news.” Hefting her rifle in her hands, she added, “I'd like to get some real use out of that small arms training.”

 “This has to be your tenth battle, darling,” he replied, a smile curling on his lips. “We've had more firefights than some couples have had dates.” Glancing back at the troops, he added, “They are good, but they shouldn't be here. Most of them are civilians, people I swore to protect. Throwing them into the firing line doesn't seem fair.”

 “They all volunteered, and it is their world. Don't they have the right to defend it?”

 “Take a good look at them,” he said. “Memorize their faces. Because at a guess, more than half of them will be dead in the next twenty-four hours, and I have a horrible feeling that I'm being optimistic. We're using half-trained troops to attack a well-defended position, and now that Captain Orlova's been captured, I have a feeling that they'll have brought all of the military installations to a high state of alert.”

 “She won't talk,” Bradley replied.

 “She doesn't have to,” he said. “Her presence alone at a meeting like that would be more than enough evidence for me to move.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We don't even know if she's still alive.”

 “They wouldn't have killed her.”

 “Not intentionally, but anything can happen in a firefight.” Dropping down to his knees, he continued, “She stayed behind to let the rest get away. Her and Kelot. That's what soldiers do. That's what I'd have done, if I'd been in that room.” Shaking his head again, he said, “And they're probably paid for that with their lives.”

 “I suppose we could send a team into the city, try and find them…,” Bradley replied.

 “No,” he said. “Even with every man we have, we don't have enough to accomplish this mission. I can't spare anyone, not when the payoff is that low.” With a deep sigh, he added, “And you know what bothers me, more than anything else? The man I was three years ago wouldn't even have hesitated. I'd have rallied half a dozen troops and gone in, no questions asked.”

 “And got yourself killed,” Bradley replied, glancing at Cantrell. “You're not the man you were back then...”

 “Thank you very much,” he said.

 “You're a lot wiser, a lot more experienced. One of the best combat commanders in the Espatier Corps. Don't deny it.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “You might have gone in, and odds are I'd have been right there by your side, but we'd have both been wrong.”

 “I wouldn't have to live through this damn waiting, though.” Shaking his head, he said, “How many times have we done this? Sat on some god-forsaken piece of wasteland, waiting for the fighting to begin again in the morning. Thule, Haven, how many others. More than I can remember, sometimes. All of them start to blur into each other.” Looking down at the ground, he added, “And every time, I've had to bury friends. Damn near no one left of that first platoon, the one I boarded Alamo with, four years ago. Three, at least count, including me. Only three, out of thirty.”

 “Don't blame yourself,” she replied. “You did everything you could, more than most people would. You rode halfway across the galaxy to rescue them, remember? Then led them back into battle, always taking the vanguard. You took the risks alongside them, every time.”

 “Yes,” he murmured. “Every time. Four years of fighting, Barbara. I've had it.” Stamping his foot on the ground, he added, “This is where I hang my hat. Once all of this is over, I'm out. I've done my duty. Someone else can put on these damned insignia.” He gestured at the lieutenant's bars, shining on his shoulders. “They've weighed me down for too long.”

 “What a lot of crap,” Cantrell said, walking over.

 “This is a private conversation,” Bradley replied, stepping between them.

 “Not when half the camp can hear.” Shaking her head, she added, “Do you know why you keep going in at the tip of the spear, Gabe? It's because you are the best. Other men might have spent years playing solitaire in one garrison after another, parading diplomats in a tour of vacation spots, but that isn't meant for you.” 

 “I'm tired,” he said, looking up at her. “Tired of being responsible for all of this. One platoon was bad enough,  but a whole world depends on what we do tomorrow, Lisa, and I'm just about sick of it. No more, damn it. No more.” With a deep, hacking breath, he added, “I've done my share.”

 “And then what?” she asked. “What comes next? You going to buy a farm, raise sheep for a living, pushing mud around to see what comes out of the ground? Maybe you'll set yourself up as a shopkeeper, selling bits of crap to people who don't need them.”

 “Lisa,” Bradley said, dangerously.

 Pointing up at the sky, she said, “Every night, whether you can see them or not, you'll be looking up at the stars and wondering what might have been. You're not born to live on one world only, Gabe, and you aren't the sort of man who is destined to die in bed. When you go down, you'll have a rifle in your hand and a company at your back, leading a group of soldiers in a desperate charge for some objective on a world light-years from here, and the last thing you will see is someone raising the Triplanetary flag, completing your victory.”

 “Spare me,” Bradley said. “It's easy for you, wandering from assignment to assignment.”

 “Hell, I offered Gabe a job in Intelligence years ago, and as far as I'm concerned, that offer is still open. I'm sure Captain Koslov would jump at the chance to sign you up.” With a grimace, she added, “Or perhaps Harper would put in a word with Captain Winter, though I really think you'd be better off elsewhere. He has a habit of specializing in high-risk/low-survival missions, as I suspect you've experienced a few times in the past.”

 “What exactly is your point?” Bradley asked, while Cooper looked on.

 “Only this,” she said, turning to Cooper, “You are an officer in the Triplanetary Espatier Corps. Perhaps the greatest thing anyone can ever achieve is to be at the top of their profession, and you've achieved that. More combat time than officers with five times your service, and you'll be able to write your own ticket when you get back.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I'm a Lieutenant, remember. When we go home, I'm destined for a desk job.”

 With a smile, she replied, “We've got enemies on all sides. Do you honestly think that a combat command won't be yours for the asking? And if your superiors are stupid enough to waste you in some meaningless admin role, mine aren't. You won't be bored, I can promise you that.” Gesturing down at the ground, she added, “Unless you're stupid enough to leave the service.”

 “One hundred and nine,” he replied.

 “Excuse me?”

 “That's how many people have died in units I've served in, or commanded. In battles fought in more than a dozen systems, waged all across the galaxy, against the Cabal, Triplanetary traitors, Xandari, Neander. There's a reason I'm good at my job, Lisa, and it isn't natural aptitude. I've had a lot of practice. Far too much practice.” He looked at Bradley, and said, “I'm sure the two of us can find a way to have some fun off the battlefield.”

 His wife reached his arm around Cooper, squeezing him, and added, “You don't have to worry about us, Lieutenant. We can manage.”

 Shaking her head, Cantrell replied, “You're making a mistake. Still, it doesn't have to be permanent.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a data-crystal, and said, “Slide that into a terminal at any Triplanetary installation, and someone will get in touch with you within twenty-four hours. You'll be back in uniform in a week.”

 “Does that invitation extend to both of us?” Bradley asked.

 “If you want it to,” Cantrell replied, though her eyes were only on Cooper. “If you want it to.” Gesturing over to the far side of the camp, a dozen troopers warming themselves over a flickering flame, she added, “I'd better go and see how they're getting on. You might want to think about getting some sleep, as well. We're on the march in, what six hours?”

 “Something like that,” Cooper said. “Good luck, Lisa. If I don't get a chance to tell you that before the fight.”

 “And to you,” she replied, stalking away into the darkness, Bradley watching her depart.

 Shaking her head, Bradley said, “She's wrong, Gabe. We've done our share.”

 “Yes,” he replied.

 “Sub-Lieutenant?” Major Molpa yelled. “Can I borrow you for a moment? We're having some trouble with these communicators.”

 “On my way,” she called back, turning to Cooper. “Don't let it get to you, Gabe. None of it. We all know what we're doing, and we've got a good battle plan to follow.” Squeezing his arm, she added, “And the best Ground Forces Commander for twenty light-years to lead it. By this time tomorrow, we'll be at the biggest victory party you've ever seen, and we can start planning our mutual retirement.”

 “I hope so,” he replied. “I hope so.” As she walked away, he headed in the opposite direction, out to the fringes of the camp, into the scrub growth that surrounded the village. The stars were shining as brightly as he had ever seen them, casting their light across the landscape, a thousand points of light looking down upon him. Each of them with worlds of its own, maybe other people looking back at him.

 One of them was Sol, though he couldn't work out which. The system where he was born, where he'd spent the first twenty years of his life, lost in the starlight. Just one more collection of worlds among uncounted billions. When he'd signed up, the adventure of it all had been the greatest appeal, the chance to see new worlds close up, new systems. A chance to do what no one else ever had. It had all seemed so real, and when he'd been assigned to Alamo as a rookie, it had felt like the answer to all of his hopes and dreams.

 He'd seen his new worlds, marched across them with a gun in his hands in the service of the Confederation, and left a trail of bodies in his wake. People he was responsible for. And now, so he'd been told, Ensign Gurung, murdered by a Xandari executioner for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How many more would die tomorrow? How many more souls could his conscience take?

 And yet, there was still that niggling voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, urging him on. The young boy he had once been, desperate to get away from life in one of a succession of tramp freighters, seeking out the adventure he'd read about in old books, or in under-budgeted movies full of brave space heroes and evil alien hordes.

 The stars were still up there, tugging at his heart, calling him back to wander the universe once again. He looked at the insignia once again, shining on his shoulders, ready to be dulled for the battle in the morning, but for now, gleaming in the darkness. When Captain Marshall had given him his commission, he'd felt ten feet tall, ready to take on the universe before breakfast and then come back for more.

 And a part of him still felt that way. Still looked up at the stars, eager for the next adventure. Some of him longed to rest, to find a place that he could call home, to settle down and build a life for himself. He looked out at the wilderness, taking a breath of cool, clean air. A world like this would be a beautiful place to live, and should they win the day, he doubted anyone would object to him settling here. His tour of duty was almost up, and so was Barbara's. They'd planned it that way, months ago, pulled strings to make sure they'd be able to make the decision at the same time.

 Turning back to the camp, he watched his wife lecturing a group of Neander on the workings of the communicators, punctuating her instructions with a series of harsh gestures. She wanted to settle down, and he knew that she was the one he wanted to live with.

 Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the data-crystal that Cantrell had given him, tossing into the air and catching it, raising his fist to hurl it into the undergrowth, to lose it in the soil of the world he hoped to make his home.

 He couldn't do it. That voice, the one that called him back to the stars, that little ten-year-old craving excitement and adventure, still had the ability to influence him, even today. Holding the crystal up, he watched it shine in the starlight, gleaming in the relic photons of worlds that might not even exist any more.

 Sliding it carefully back into his pocket, he turned and made his way back to the camp. He could leave deciding about the next fifty years until tomorrow. Assuming the outcome of the battle didn't render such speculation moot.

Chapter 16

 Harper looked down at her datapad, her eyes flicking from the monitor to the countdown clock on the wall, the seconds slowly trickling away. She'd deliberately stayed in her office as long as possible, knowing that she wasn't a good enough actor to avoid transmitting her nerves to the rest of the bridge crew, but the time of their arrival at Copernicus was almost upon them.

 When she'd first outlined the battle plan, it had almost seemed straightforward, a chain of events leading to their victory over the Xandari, but now that it was so close, now that they were about to actually arrive into the system, she couldn't control her anxiety. She had no way of knowing what had happened to Pavel, whether he had been able to get the reinforcements they needed, or whether any resistance remained on the planet below.

 She looked up at the clock again, shaking her head. If all was going according to plan, then the uprising would start within a few seconds of them entering the system, a chain of events designed to throw the enemy forces into maximum chaos. It was a good plan, on paper, but there were so many assumptions built in that no sane strategist would have approved it. She'd only gone ahead because she hadn't been able to think of any other choice.

 Placing her datapad onto the table, she reached for a drink of water, draining the glass in three quick sips, wishing that it contained something stronger. Then, taking a deep breath to poise herself, she walked out onto the bridge, the crew watching her as she moved to the command chair, carefully sitting down and making a study of the status monitor.

 “Report, XO,” she said, turning to Scott.

 “All systems ready, Captain,” she replied.

 Nodding, Harper said, “Then I think that it's about time to go to battle stations.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Scott said, tapping a control. “Tactical to Crew. Battle Stations. I repeat, all hands to Battle Stations. Emergence in five minutes minus.”

 “This is it,” Armstrong said, shaking her head. “We're really going to do this.”

 “That we are, Midshipman. That we are.” She settled back in her chair, watching as the monitor flashed from green to red, her crew racing to their stations to prepare for the battle to come. Calmly, Scott ran through the arming sequence, loading a salvo of missiles into the launch tubes, their precious armament ready to be unleashed on the enemy. Armstrong leaned over her panel, programming evasive patterns into the thruster controls, and Kowalski had taken the flight engineering panel personally, directing their limited damage control teams to strategic positions.

 She tapped a control, bringing up a projected tactical view of the system ahead, overlaying the intended positions of the approaching ships. Her squadron would emerge at seven second intervals, diving in towards their targets, with Salazar's formation to arrive five minutes later. Assuming it even existed. She couldn't even be certain that the Koltoc would be following. For all she knew, Colonel Kilquan had changed his mind at the last minute, veered clear of the egress point and remained behind.

 No. She couldn't doubt, not now. They'd done everything they could to make this mission work, and there was no way they could abort at this stage. In less than two minutes, they'd be engaging the enemy, ships heading in their direction with weapons at the ready. A dotted line appeared on the screen, the projected course of Daedalus towards the planet, Armstrong making some last-minute changes to their trajectory plot.

 That reminded her. “You have the call, Midshipman.”

 “Aye, ma'am,”Armstrong replied. “Fifty seconds to emergence. I have the call.”

 The formalities were out of the way, and she forced herself to wait, and watch, her left hand tapping a sequence of controls to bring the electronic warfare suite online. That, at least, was something she knew, something she was comfortable with. Command was still an alien world to her, and her ignorance weighed heavily on her mind. With an effort, she pushed her doubts away, forcing a smile as Armstrong made the final preparations for their return to normal space.

 “Five seconds,” Armstrong said. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

 Without quite realizing it, Harper held her breath as Daedalus raced back into normal space, the familiar blue flash lighting the sky, a beacon that would alert the Xandari of their arrival even if their sensors had somehow missed the dimensional instability. Immediately, alert lights flashed on, threat warnings scattered all across local space. Arkhipov frantically fed the incoming sensor data to the tactical computer, and Harper's eyes widened as she saw the nightmare waiting for the fleet.

 “Execute course,” Scott said, and Armstrong responded, the engines firing at full power, racing over the usual safety maximums with acceleration fierce enough to push them back into their seats. The course could be altered for the tactical situation later. For now, Daedalus had to move.

 Quickly, Harper scanned the display. Three Xandari battlecruisers hovered in orbit, holding inside the defensive perimeter, while a dozen contacts moved away from the orbital station on an intercept course, fighters moving to attack Daedalus. She glanced at Scott, who looked back with a worried frown. Without support, those little ships could tear them to pieces with a single salvo.

 Alamo was waiting in a higher orbit, the indicators reporting that her laser cannon was powering up, her engines firing to throw her on a course to follow up the fighters, meeting Daedalus as it reached closest approach to Copernicus, assuming that it survived to make it. A perfect ambush, and overkill based on the capability of her squadron.

 “Ingram, any contact from the surface?”

 “Nothing, Captain,” he replied. “No response on any channel. Massive spike in communications chatter, though, and some of it in the clear. There's something happening down there, but they're using a code we haven't broken yet.” He smiled, and added, “Though apparently, according to the morning news, a group of terrorists and pirates have just jumped into the system to loot and pillage the planet. I guess that's us.”

 “Terrorists and pirates?” Arkhipov said, shaking his head. “No one can seriously believe that rubbish, surely.”

 “People believe what they want to believe, Spaceman,” Harper replied. “Let's prove them wrong. Helm, alter course to take us into contact with those fighters. Kat, fire at will, but don't waste a missile.” She frowned, and added, “Those are Koltoc interceptors, aren't they?”

 “Yes they are,” Scott replied, nodding. “Which means we should have full specifications in the computer.” Turning to Harper, she added, “And local pilots flying them, more than likely.” Looking back at her console, she said, “Contact in three minutes, ten seconds, with ninety seconds in the firing window. Alamo encounter nine minutes after that.”

 “Profitable Venture just jumped into the system,” Arkhipov said, a relieved smile on his face. “And we're getting sufficient dimensional instability that Due Diligence must be right on their tail.”

 “Good. Ingram, hail those fighters. Maybe we can get them to change sides.”

 “Worth a try,” Scott said, nodding.

 “This is Lieutenant Harper, commanding the Triplanetary Destroyer Daedalus, to the pilots in the interceptor squadron ahead. I call upon you to alter course, and join with us in the liberation of this system from the Xandari. We're here to save your people, damn it. We should be on the same side, not fighting each other.” 

 Shaking his head, Ingram said, “No response, Captain.”

 “No change to target aspect,” Arkhipov added. “Combat range in two minutes, forty seconds.”

 “Damn it,” Harper said, “You're on the wrong side, Intercept Squadron. Can't you see that you're fighting the last chance your people have for freedom? Even if you won't join us, cut your engines and avoid battle. Stay out of the fight.”

 “This is Commander Weinberg,” a cold voice replied. “We know what plans the Confederation has for our system, and we would rather die than be conquered by you. Unless you surrender at once, we will destroy you, as well as your Koltoc lackeys.”

 “Captain,” Arkhipov said. “Someone disagrees with him. Two fighters are altering course, changing trajectory...” He paused, eyes widening. “My God. They just exploded.”

 “The Xandari killed them, rather than let them change sides,” Harper said, shaking his head. “Damn it, Weinberg, your friends just killed two of your pilots!”

 “Cowards and traitors who we're better off without. Weinberg out.”

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “Can you work out which fighter that bastard is flying?”

 “Not a problem, ma'am,” Ingram said.

 “Good. Kat, I want Weinberg taken down. It's possible the rest of the squadron will see sense once he's dead.”

 The sensor display updated again, the third ship now entering the system. Daedalus drew back, Armstrong reducing their acceleration to allow the Koltoc ships to catch them, moving to a line abreast formation with the fighters ranging ahead. The bridge was eerily silent as the crew worked their controls, the need for communication limited to occasional terse command.

 Back in orbit, the Xandari ships waited, content to allow the Copernicans to take the first blows from the incoming ships. Their plan was almost depressingly simple. Harper's squadron had forty-two missiles in total, and the battle with the fighters would soak up at least twenty of them, even optimistically, leaving only two full salvos left for a later engagement with the battlecruisers. She looked down at her electronic warfare console, and frowned. The missiles were Xandari, not stolen. The technology was far more primitive, slower and with a lower yield, but there was no way she could knock them out of the air from here.

 “Closing to target,” Armstrong said. “One minute to go.”

 “I have a time-on-target firing solution with the Koltoc ships,” Scott added. “First wave offensive, second wave defensive.” Turning to Harper, she said, “We should think about an evasive maneuver at the end of this engagement, turn away from the planet. On our present course, we'll hit the defense network in ten minutes.”

 “Hold present trajectory,” Harper ordered, fixing her gaze on the screen, resting her hands in her lap to avoid fidgeting. The tactical display zoomed in, showing three contacts moving towards ten, wide spheres illustrating the range of their missiles. The seconds counted down, one after another, Scott's hand poised over the launch controls, ready for action.

 Harper glanced back at the communications console, Ingram shaking his head as he continued his efforts to contact someone, anyone on the planet on their side. The whole plan would fail unless there was an uprising on the planet's surface, a force ready to wrest control of the missile satellites Daedalus was heading for.

 “Firing range!” Scott yelled, and the ship rocked back as the missiles raced away, joining with those launched by the Koltoc ships to form a wave of death heading for their adversaries, one for each of the enemy fighters. Two seconds later, the interceptors responded, unleashing their full missile complement before turning away, trying to fleet the warheads that were already locked onto them.

 Now the screen was flooded with tracks, thirty missiles joining the thirteen ships on display, and Harper shook her head as Scott labored with her controls, trying to get the critical second salvo into the air. Even as it was, they'd only be able to knock down half of the missiles, and she knew the terrible toll they would wreck on the fragile warships under her command.

 “Come on, come on,” Scott said.

 “First hit!” Arkhipov said. “Weinberg's on his way to hell, Captain.” After a second's pause, he added, “Two more! We're getting them!”

 “Second salvo away,” Scott reported, the ship rocking again as four more missiles raced into the confusion, targeting the incoming Copernican warheads. “Talk about a target-rich environment!”

 Harper leaned forward, no longer caring about the interceptors, knowing that they would have no further part to play in the battle. Without waiting for the order, Scott swung the first salvo around, the five surviving fighters granted a reprieve as the missiles found a better purpose, the defense of her squadron. The first attack had only been a diversion, albeit one she couldn't risk ignoring. Soon the real battle would begin.

 Scott's hands danced across the controls while Armstrong threw the ship into a wild series of maneuvers, desperately attempting to avoid the enemy warheads. As the two sets of missiles crossed paths, the screen abruptly became a lot clearer, the five fighters streaming out of range while a series of explosions flashed across the heart of the display, patterns of debris scattered across the sky. As the view cleared, only three missiles remained, one of theirs drifting aimlessly through the sky, and two from the enemy fighters, still diving towards the squadron.

 “All hands, brace for impact,” Harper said, gripping to the armrests of her seat, watching helplessly as the two trajectories converged. At the last second, Armstrong fired the thrusters, swinging the ship in a bid to control where the blow fell, but despite her efforts, the angry squeal of ruptured deck places echoed through the ship, warning alarms ringing as Kowalski frantically directed repair teams into position.

 “Damage report,” she said.

 With a sigh, Kowalski replied, “Remember that plan we had to retreat from the system?” Turning to her, he added, “Hendecaspace drive destroyed. No other combat-critical damage, but we've got hull breaches in three decks. Repair team on the way.”

 “No drive,” Armstrong muttered. 

 “We all knew this was a one-way mission,” Harper said. “This doesn't change a thing.”

 “Six minutes to Alamo,” Ingram said.

 “Come on, Cooper,” Harper muttered. “What are you waiting for?”

Chapter 17

 A cell, once again, not very different from the one she'd spent three months confined to. Orlova looked out of the window, a scowl on her face. By now, everything should be starting, but there was no sign of activity out in the city, no explosions heralding the launch of the revolution, no protesters chanting on the streets. She looked up at the sky, wishing it was night. Even from down here, she'd be able to see something.

 The door opened with the rattle of a key, and Commander Ryan stepped through, wearing a combat jumpsuit, a pistol in his belt. Behind him, out in the corridor, Captain Kalb stood at parade rest, rifle in hand. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and fear as Ryan walked into the room, sitting down on the bed.

 “It might interest you to know,” Ryan began, “that your Scoutship Daedalus jumped into the system three minutes ago, and that she and a pair of Koltoc Monitors are currently engaged in battle with elements of our orbital defense force.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Three small ships against nine satellites and four capital ships, including your Alamo. They haven't got a chance.”

 “Don't write off Harper,” Orlova said. “The battle isn't over until the last ship falls.”

 “Perhaps. Though the evidence suggests that you are on the losing side. It isn't too late to change that, though.” Lounging back on the bed, he continued, “If you were to broadcast a surrender, I'm sure your people would respect it. You'd save countless lives, including the civilians that will inevitably die in a revolt. And you know you can't win. They're being condemned to death for nothing. Which of us is the monster here?”

 “They're dying for their children, that they may live in a free world, not one ruled by a tyrant race and their puppets. You've both fought the Xandari, damn it, you know what I mean.”

 “I know that our place in the universe will be strengthened by being on the winning side. They're going to conquer the galaxy, Captain, one way or another, and we're going to live through it.” Glancing out of the window, he added, “We live in paradise. Why should we need anything more?”

 “Ask your people that, if you dare,” Orlova replied. “Ask if they want to live in a world where the most basic right of any living thing, the right to live and die free, is stripped from them.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I am responsible to protect them, not to throw their lives away in a futile war, and if you truly cared about the people of this planet, you would do as I asked. Instead, you will die, Captain. My orders are to execute you by firing squad as soon as the current battle is over.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “My expectation is that it will be within the hour. If you have any thoughts about your last meal, Captain Kalb will be only too glad to provide them for you.”

 “I'll have a service revolver, please, with three bullets as the chaser.”

 “I should have expected as much.” Looking up at his comrade, he continued, “What do you think you have to gain from this? Time? Your forces have wasted it by failing to bring your vaunted reinforcements forward. The Xandari have assembled a fleet strong enough to counter anything you could launch at them, and within the year, they'll have control over industrialized worlds all over this part of space. A resource base that you can never hope to match, one that they will ruthlessly utilize...”

 “At least you admit that,” Orlova interrupted.

 With a frown, he continued, “To wipe your Confederation into the dust. Your worlds will be smashed, your people killed or sent to resource worlds. They want Earth, you see, want to reclaim their ancient homeland, and I suppose I cannot find it in myself to blame them.” Looking up at her, he added, “You could stop that with a word. Offer to help the Xandari, to help them take down your fleet, and they'll accord Mars, Callisto and Titan the same status as Copernicus.”

 “As slave states in their empire?” she asked. “No thank you, Commander. We fought a decade-long war for our freedom, and tens of thousands died to make our independence stick. I think both you and the Xandari will find us a far harder nation to bring down than you realize. We'll fight to the last ship, to the last man, and give you a battle that you will never forget.” A smile crossed her face, and she added, “And we'll win. One way or another. I don't even need to live long enough to see it. I know it. And so do you, somewhere down deep in your soul, or you wouldn't be here talking to me.”

 Taking a step forward, she continued, “Why are you here, anyway? Surely a man such as yourself ought to be supervising the defense of your planet, except that the Xandari have usurped that role from you. You're left to nursemaid the prisoners.” Glaring into his eyes, she said, “Or is it that I'm more important than you are letting on, that your glorious masters aren't so certain of victory that they're seeking any advantage they can get.” 

 Ryan looked at her, his face reddening, and said, “There's no reason to wait for your death, Captain. I suppose it's only fitting that you should die with your crew.” Shaking his head, he added, “I had hoped that we could reduce the scale of the butcher's bill, but if you are determined to bring so many people down with you, then so be it. Captain, kill her.”

 “Why not do it yourself, Ryan?” Orlova asked. “Don't you have the guts to take a life?”

 Kalb rose his rifle, leveled it at Orlova, and said, “I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry.”

 The words were familiar, a message hidden in the phrase, but before she could respond, Kalb pointed the gun at Ryan and fired, two shots in quick succession, then turned to the corridor and fired again. The dying man looked up at her, blood spilling out onto the sheets, his eyes wide as he tumbled to the floor.

 “We've got to get moving,” Kalb said. “They're waiting for you outside.”

 Orlova reached down, snatching the pistol from Ryan's belt, and asked, “What made you change your mind?”

 “What makes you think I did?” he replied. “Who do you think the Underground was signaling in the prison?” Glancing down the corridor, he added, “I managed to strip most of the guards away, but we've got to get moving if we're going to free the rest of your people. Master control is on the ground floor.”

 Frowning, she followed him, replying, “How are we going to unlock a hundred doors?”

 “We won't have to,” he said. “Most of the doors are magnetic. We only use old-fashioned keys for the special prisoners, largely because I've yet to hear of any hacker managing to crack into a mechanical lock.” The two of them sprinted down the corridor, leaping over the dead guard on the floor, and Orlova looked around at the other cells.

 “How many people are in here?”

 “A hundred and nine, mostly on the upper levels. There are a few political prisoners here, but we'll have to worry about them later.” He glanced at a clock on the wall as they turned a corner, sliding into the stairwell, and added, “Any second now, the alarms will go off. I've got a few friends here, but most of the guards are Xandari loyalists.”

 General Kelot, a bandage wrapped around his leg, was waiting for them at the next landing with a pistol in each hand. Clapping Orlova on the back, he stepped aside to allow them to take the lead before following, his wound obviously slowing him, his forehead beaded in sweat.  

 “Don't wait for me,” he said. “Get moving. I'll cover you.”

 “What's going on outside?” Orlova asked.

 “Flannery's got people stationed all across the city, ready to move. We're going to have to send the signal ourselves.” He smiled, and added, “As soon as we open the doors, they'll hear the alert sirens for miles. That's when we move.”

 Knowing that her people were dying in orbit, Orlova took the steps three at a time, racing to the lowest level, leaving even Kalb trailing in her wake. She burst through the doors at the bottom, almost crashing into a guard, sending the two of them sprawling to the floor. He reached for his pistol, but before he could move, a bullet smashed into his shoulder, bone and blood spilling out onto the floor, a wailing scream as he cried for help.

 “Just ahead,” Kalb said, panting for breath. He raced to the door, slamming his palm on the lock, anxiously looking at the monitor as the system sluggishly confirmed his identity. Every second counted, and the computer seemed to know that, the lock finally releasing to allow them into the control center. Inside, a technician waved them in with a smile, pistol at the ready, and Kalb walked over to the console.

 “It'll take a minute to activate the release mechanism,” he said, holding his hand over the controls. “When I hit the button, alarms will go off everywhere. We'll get every guard in the place trying to take them.” He paused, his eyes suddenly very tired, and added, “My men were well-trained. They won't go down easily.”

 “Friendly fire?” a gasping Kelot asked.

 “Everyone on our side will stay well clear. You can fire at will. Ready?”

 “We're ready,” Orlova replied.

 “Here we go.” He tapped a control, entered a ten-digit code, and an ear-splitting siren sounded, the pulsing waves of noise echoing through the corridors, streams of data running up the monitor screens as the locking mechanisms began the long process of disengagement, slowly releasing the prisoners from their confinement.

 The first wave of guards were on them in seconds, a trio of men racing towards the door with weapons at the ready. Orlova's pistol barked three times in quick succession, one of the guards staggering to his knees, clutching his leg, while the others dived for cover, returning fire. The stink of ozone filled the air as a bullet smashed into the monitor screen, shards of glass raining over the technician at the controls, but the mechanism continued its work, the sirens still droning.

 A second squad, more cautious than the first, moved forward in support and Kelot fired wildly in a bid to pin them down. One of them decided to try and be a hero, racing forward, wild shots from his pistol as he tried to provide a distraction to allow his comrades to advance, but Orlova felled him with a shot to the shoulder before he could get close.

 “How long?” she yelled.

 “Forty seconds, I think,” Kalb replied, his words only serving to draw his former comrades forward. Orlova could tell what they were thinking, that they were bracing themselves to rush the position, knowing that at least two of them would die, but that the others would make it to the control room. In a bid to preempt their decision, she leaned out of the door, firing a quick shot, bullets slamming into the wall all around her before she dived back into cover.

 Kelot leveled his pistol, taking a shot at a careless man who exposed his foot for a second too long, pulling it back in with two toes missing. The rear doors opened, a third wave running forward, and this time they weren't seeking cover, charging towards the control room with their comrades providing fire support, a textbook assault on a fixed defensive position.

 Orlova fired, her final bullets slamming into the leading guard, his body toppling into the legs of the next man in line, sending him staggering to the ground, while Kelot held his fire until they drew closer, spending his last shots trying to divert them from their attack. Orlova turned her head at a yell from the rear, the technician slumped over his console with blood spilling down his back, all of the screens now smashed.

 The last man of the third wave stumbled back, ducking into an office. Orlova glanced at Kelot, who silently shook his head. Both of them were out of ammunition, and though the guards out in the corridor couldn't know it, their next attack would succeed. The door slid open once again, and she tensed herself for a last, desperate round of hand-to-hand combat.

 “Freeze!” a familiar voice said, that of Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, her second-in-command and fellow inmate, with a group of Alamo crewmen coming after him, all of them armed with rifles. “It's over!”

 The guards looked around, caught on all sides, and slowly raised their hands in surrender, as Orlova stepped out into the corridor. A chorus of cheers rose from the men as she walked towards Nelyubov, clasping his hand in triumph. Kalb followed, looking at the carnage, shaking his head as the men he had commanded, trained, looked up at him with contempt.

 “How many, Frank?” she asked.

 “Sixty-one here,” he said. “I think they took a few away. Someone's handing out guns upstairs.” Outside, the sound of an explosion filled the air, and he added, “I guess the revolution has begun. Let's get into it.”

Chapter 18

 Cooper looked down at the datapad, the arrival of Daedalus giving him a brief second of sensor updates before the Xandari jammed their signals. They'd put Orbital Defense in a small spaceport, out on the fringes of the city, surrounded by a fifty-foot wall with barbed wire and guard towers to give complete coverage. The nearest thing they could find to an impenetrable fortress, at least to a ground assault.

 Tapping the screen, he called up the positions of his troops, three large platoons each encircling the base, ready to launch their attack. He glanced at his wife, at the head of a column of Neander, then at Cantrell to the left, standing by his side, ready to take the vanguard of the assault. Taking this facility was going to cost them heavily. Given any other choice, he'd have tried another way, but while he waited, a battle was being waged in orbit, and his friends were counting on him to succeed.

 Holding his communicator high, he said, “Mortars, fire!”

 As one, five missiles rose into the air, slamming down onto the walls, smashing holes in the barbed wire, unleashing a torrent of machine gun fire into the killing ground. He'd kept his force out of range, and the enemy knew it, but he still had once ace up his sleeve. If this wall had been constructed as quickly as the one he'd found at the garrison, there might be a way to break it down.

 Turning to the rear, he jumped out of cover, one last glimpse at his wife, and raced to the truck they had captured the day before. He stepped into the cab, starting the engine, then looked back at the mound of explosives packed into the rear. If this didn't bring that wall down, nothing would. Releasing the handbrake, the truck stuttered into life, wheels grinding into the mud as it sped forward, diving towards the garrison, less than a quarter-mile away.

 A second wave of mortars fired as he approached, more as a distraction than anything else, two of the guard towers now had corpses kneeling at the machine guns, the guards ripped to pieces by the shrapnel blast. The explosions rippled into the air, the roar of flame and smoke with shards of concrete flying to the ground.

 The truck burst through the lines, and his wife looked out at him, urging him to get clear, but he shook his head, dropping down out of sight as machine guns swept around, smashing into the engine and the windscreen, glass scattered onto his back. It would take less than a minute for the truck to complete its journey, but there was no way he could trust the success of the mission to a piece of string. One way or another, he'd have to ride it in himself.

 Inside, he counted down the seconds as the rattle of fire grew heavier, knowing that a bullet in the wrong place could smash into the explosives at the rear, detonating the bomb too soon. The truck rocked from side to side, caught in ruts, and he reached up to grip the steering wheel tighter, holding it on course through sheer force of will.

 He didn't dare look to see how far he'd come, knew that one glance over the dashboard would be death. If he jumped early, the truck might miss, and he'd be cut to ribbons by the machine guns on the wall. Too late, and he would be engulfed by the explosion. Under his breath, he counted to five, long seconds as the shadow of the wall loomed overhead, then hurled himself through the open door, head-first into the mud, letting himself fall limp to avoid injury.

 Rolling to the right, he felt a patter of mud on his back from a burst of machine gun fire smashing into the ground by his side, then looked up to see the truck slam into the wall, one brief second before its deadly payload erupted. He dropped his head down into the mud, trying to protect himself from the shockwave, but the pulse of heat that washed over his back was still enough to cause a stinging burn, followed by chunks of concrete crashing down all around him, one of them catching him in the arm.

 After a second, he dared to look up, and saw a huge gap in the wall filled with the twisted remnants of the truck, bodies scattered all around, a huge column of smoke rising into the sky as flames flickered on the nearest building. For a moment, the gunfire stopped, only to resume a moment later as the first wave of his men advanced to take advantage of the breach.

 Cooper reached into his pocket, tugging out a grenade, tossing it forward, sending more shards of white-hot death racing through the air as a group of guards moved in a vain attempt to plug the gap in their defenses. Struggling to his feet, he ducked to the left, dodging the machine gun blast before it could catch him, then felt another burst of heat as a third mortar strike slammed home, one of them only meters away.

 A loud yell rose from the rear as the platoons raced forward, bursts of fire racing through the air, and he turned to watch half a dozen of his men caught by a single blast, reduced to pulpy, bloody masses falling into the mud. Heedless of the risk, he raced forward, pistol in hand, shooting a startled guard before he could react. Up above, one of the towers turned, trying to home onto him, but he tossed a grenade up first, the explosion ripping into the guard as it drew level, the molten shrapnel raining down all around him.

 Inside the compound, all was chaos as the stench of battle filled the air. An officer attempted to order a retreat, but a wash of green flame raced over him, barely time for one last, desperate scream before he died. Faulkner had managed to get his plasma rifle working, just in time. Belatedly, one of the guards spotted him, and he tumbled into cover behind a pile of rubble, taking a shot into the distance that pinned down one of his opponents.

 The rattle of machine gun fire still burst down all around him, and the screams and cries of his men tugged at him. He knew that they were dying for a worthy cause, that there was no choice, but was still desperate to stop the slaughter. Another column of smoke filled the air, a second pulse from the plasma rifle destroying a machine gun nest, the last gasp of the power pack.

 Major Molpa raced toward, rifle in hand, leading a pack of Neander as they charged through the breach in the wall, and Cooper rose to provide support in the form of a trio of cracks from his pistol, the last of the clip as he reached into his pocket for a replacement. Just as Molpa was about to reach him, a burst of gunfire caught the brave warrior in the side, the force hurling him to the ground. He looked up at Cooper, eyes wide, reaching for his rifle, before his eyes closed, his head dropping to the ground.

 “No!” Cooper yelled, racing out of cover, snatching the weapon away and slamming the control to full automatic, raining desperate bursts of fire onto the enemy, not knowing or caring whether he was hitting anything. More of this men moved into the breach, many of them nursing wounds, and finally his force began to outnumber the enemy, their superior strength beginning to press home. One by one, the guard towers stopped firing as those firing the machine guns died, one by one, killed by gunshot, grenade or shrapnel.

 Cantrell ran into the compound, her eyes wide as she looked at Cooper. He glanced at his side, saw his sleeve torn away, blood streaming down his arm, and shook his head, turning back to the compound. Some of the guards were moving into the central building, the control center, trying to form a defensive perimeter. He waved for his men to follow as he charged towards them, Cantrell shouting something that he couldn't hear over the explosions.

 Any thought of commanding this battle was long dead, as dead as the bodies strewn across the compound. This fight had devolved into a series of skirmishes, another platoon racing through the gap, Moretti in the lead with blood trickling from a gash in his forehead, rifle in one hand and a wounded trooper in the other.

 “Get the bastards!” Cooper yelled, and the few men who had responded rushed forward with him, mowing down the fleeing troopers with raking rifle fire, bodies dropping into the dirt. The hatch slammed shut, and he crashed into it, mashing his fist against the controls before turning back to the compound.

 Almost before he realized it, the fighting had ended, Moretti's platoon holding their rifles on a group of guards as they slowly assembled amid the destruction. Over the wall, the flag of Copernicus fluttered, flame licking at the fabric as it curled in the wind, and he shook his head, struggling to speak as the acrid smoke filled his lungs.

 “Walpis, get the explosives up here, on the double.”

 The Neander looked around, nodded, then pounded out of the compound, half a dozen others following him. Bradley raced through, a squad of men at her rear, and sprinted towards Cooper, tugging Donegan after her.

 “Gabe, your arm,” she said.

 “Never mind that now,” he replied, while Donegan pulled out his medical kit.

 “Sir, I think you've broken it,” the medic replied. “Give me a minute.”

 “We don't have time!” Looking around, he said, “Moretti, what's the story?”

 “I've got fifteen effectives, sir. Don't know about the rest.”

 “Rojek fell in the first wave,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “I think there's about a dozen in First Platoon. Second took it worst. I left them guarding the perimeter.” Looking up at her husband, she said, “It was bad out there, Gabe.”

 Stepping forward, he wiped the muck from his face with a grubby arm while Donegan labored at the other, and yelled, “Corporal, where the hell are you?”

 “Gabe...”

 “Damn it, Barbara, there are people dying in orbit, and if we don't get control of the missile satellites, all of this will be for nothing!”

 “Worse,” Cantrell said, climbing down from the wall. “We've got company coming. Looks like a truck convoy with helicopter support. I'd say they're throwing everything they've got at us.” Waving an arm at the shattered wall, she added, “We're going to need to put together some sort of defensive perimeter.”

 “How long?”

 “Ten minutes minus,” she replied.

 Nodding, he said, “Molpa,” before correcting himself with a sigh, “Faulkner, take charge. Try and get something to block that hole, anything you can find.”

 “These walls won't do any good if they're going to hit us from the air, sir.”

 “I know that, damn it,” he replied. “We've got to slow them down. Long enough for us to win this battle.” Turning back to the breach, he said, “Corporal Walpis, where the hell are those damned explosives!”

 “Hold still, sir,” Donegan said, gritting his teeth. “I've got to immobilize this arm, and I can't do that if you keep waving it around.”

 “Just get on with it,” Cooper snapped. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then said, “Do the best you can, Specialist.”

 Finally, Walpis sprinted in with a backpack, a detonator in his hand. The rest of his squad had swapped out their rifles for pistols, low-velocity weapons used on ships to avoid damage to equipment. He turned to the men, gesturing them forward with his good arm, earning another exasperated stare from Donegan.

 “Fire discipline, people. We've got to take that intact, and they'll do what they can to stop us. Watch what you are shooting at, but make sure you get everyone in the room. Probably Xandari at the controls. Corporal, set the charges, and the rest of us advance at plus-five seconds.”

 “Gabe, for God's sake,” Bradley said. “You're wounded.”

 “Sir…,” Walpis began.

 “Move it, Corporal!” A dull ache began to run down his arm as Donegan wrapped bandages around the wound, and his head began to throb. He tossed his rifle to the dirt, taking a pistol from one of the men. At least his good hand was still intact. As the rest of the troops moved to the perimeter, his squad closed in on the wall, moving to the side to provide cover from the explosion, while Walpis carefully placed the charges in position.

 Cooper looked at his watch, shaking his head. This was taking too long. Up in orbit, their fleet would already be in the heart of the battle. Finally, Walpis stepped clear, waving his hands, then pulled out the detonator, unceremoniously tapping the button. The door erupted in a pillar of flame, the force of the explosion hurling it inside, a series of screams from within.

 A technician staggered out of the room, dropping to the ground with bullets from three soldiers lodged in him. Stepping over him, Walpis led the way into the bunker, pistol in hand, and with a trio of gunshots dropped back with a gaping wound in his arm, a grimace on his face as Donegan raced forward. Cooper was next, pushing another trooper out of they way, stepping into the smoke-filled room. Inside, a Xandari sat, a pair of men dying on either side of him, gleaming a smile as he advanced.

 “Die, you bastard,” Cooper said, coldly squeezing the trigger, and the Xandari dropped to the ground. As though someone had flicked a switch, he felt the ground rushing up to meet him, and collapsed onto the floor, dull cries as shadows rushed towards him, his eyes flickering shut as the darkness reached out to claim him.

Chapter 19

 “Report,” Salazar said, as Random Walk tumbled out of hendecaspace, the viewscreen showing Copernicus dead center, a precious jewel surrounded by a sea of stars. A prize to win. He turned to Spinelli, frowning over his primitive console, as a sensor display staggered onto the screen, the display struggling to update with a rapidly changing tactical situation.

 “It's not good, sir. The satellite network still seems to be under enemy control. I think they've just launched a salvo against Due Diligence. Lieutenant Harper's squadron will be closing on Alamo in less than three minutes, and the enemy battlecruisers are staying under cover.”

 “No signals from the surface, but I have Daedalus, Captain,” Weitzman said.

 “Put her on,” Salazar replied, and a view of Harper flashed onto the screen, her hair tumbled down over her eyes, the lights flickering on the bridge. “Kris...”

 “We're just hanging on,” she said. “Tell me you aren't alone.”

 “Six ships right on my tail,” he replied. “Where do you want us?”

 “Enemy battlecruiser just lit their engines!” Spinelli yelled. “Heading for the Koltoc formation. Alamo's heading back in.”

 “I guess that answers my question,” Salazar replied. All around Random Walk, a series of blue flashes brought the Neander reinforcements into the system. “Any contact with the surface?”

 “Nothing,” Harper replied, “Not a damn thing. I don't even know if Major Molpa made it down.” Shaking her head, she said, “Unless we get control of those satellites, we've had it.”

 Fumbling with the communication controls, Salazar said, “Random Walk to Vendetta. Colonel, I need your squadron to move to support the Koltoc. We might have to try a fighting withdrawal to the moon.”

 “We didn't come all this way to help the pink hairs retreat, Lieutenant,” the Neander protested.

 “Missile launch, eight running, directed at Profitable Venture!” Spinelli said.

 “That about uses up our missiles, Pavel,” Harper said with a sad sigh. “I'm going for a hard burn around Copernicus, try and gain some speed. Maybe with a little time, they'll be able to get it together on the surface.”

 “There's got to be another way,” Salazar said. Turning to Maqua, he added, “Take us into the fight, Sub-Lieutenant. Maximum acceleration.”

 Frowning, Lombardo said, “We don't have much to fight with, sir.”

 “Then we'll throw rocks at the bastards, damn it!”

 The sensor screen flashed up the changes, a tactical view swelling to show local space. It was a confused mess of trajectories, missiles flying in all directions, the large Xandari battlecruiser pivoting towards the fleet, now finally coming into some sort of formation. He looked at the planet, shaking his head. Without the satellites, this battle was minutes away from a rout, a repeat of the last time they visited this world.

 “Missile incoming!” Spinelli said. “Must have been roaming, looking for a target!”

 “It would pick us,” Foster replied, shaking her head. “Launching intercept missile.” She tapped her controls, and looked up, her face pale. “Malfunction in guidance system.”

 “What?” Lombardo roared, racing over to the tactical station, but there was no time for corrections, no time for repairs.

 “All hands, brace for impact,” Salazar said, holding onto his chair. The missile slammed into the rear of the ship, all the patchwork repairs failing at once as the ship wildly started to spin, angry thunder roaring as hull plating fractured in a dozen places, the lights flickering, failing, then returning dimmer than before as the power distribution network collapsed.

 “Helm controls non-responsive,” Maqua said, stabbing at his console. “Manual override has failed. I can't correct attitude.”

 “Art?” Salazar asked.

 Shaking his head, the engineer replied, “We're dead in space, sir. It could take weeks to put this ship back together.”

 “Damn it all, Art, you've got about five minutes.”

 Turning to his station, he said, “Primary reactor has failed, the distribution network has been burned out in fifteen places and destroyed in three more, we've got a hundred and ten hull breaches on every deck, and life support is on auxiliary back-up.” The lights flickered again, the consoles forced to reboot. “Now we're on the solar panels.” Running his hands through his thinning hair, he replied, “There's nothing we can do, sir. Frankly, we should probably consider abandoning ship.”

 Salazar looked at the screen, the view drifting around, Alamo caught on the corner of the display. He shook his head, still disgusted that it was under the control of the enemy, before rising to his feet, a smile creeping across his face.

 “We can't abandon ship now,” Ryan said. “We've just got here! There are twelve missiles in our arsenal. There must be something we can do with them.”

 Turning, Salazar said, “Can we fit the whole crew on the shuttle?”

 “Probably,” Lombardo replied with a shrug. “They'll have to be very good friends, but I don't see any reason why not.” Looking around the bridge, he added, “We're leaving?”

 “Where are we going?” Foster asked. “I'm not sure we could reach the rest of the squadron without catching a missile, and I don't like the idea of dropping down into captivity on Copernicus.” She frowned, and said, “Perhaps we could try for the moon, wait out the battle and link up with the survivors.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “We're not going to the moon.”

 “Then...”
 “Hooke,” Salazar said, turning to the hacker. “You once told me that you could shut down Alamo. Were you telling the truth, or just blowing smoke?”

 After a long pause, Hooke replied, “I can do it. Not remotely, though. Certainly not from here, and not from a shuttle either.” Glancing nervously around, he added, “I'd have to be at a terminal on the ship itself.”

 “Then?”

 With a nod, he said, “I could shut down every system on the ship. Take over life support, the works. From the quick probe I made the last time we saw her, I don't think they've made any changes to her systems. Certainly not her firewall.”

 “That's it, then,” Salazar said. “Lieutenant Ryan, I want you to arrange that all hands are armed before boarding the shuttle. We're going to abandon ship and transfer to Alamo.”

 “Sir,” Foster replied, still sitting at her station, “There must be at least a hundred Xandari on board, and that ship is at the heart of their fleet. Even if we could get in without getting hit by a missile, we'd be facing odds of six or seven to one when we boarded.”

 Frowning, Lombardo said, “I can do something about the missiles. If we moved them down to the hangar bay, dropped them when we launched the shuttle, we could take them with us as a defensive screen.” Warming to his idea, he continued, “I can control them from the co-pilot's seat.”

 “I'll get us there,” Salazar said. “Hooke, are you sure you can do this?”

 “Get me to a console, skipper, and I'll make Alamo sing for you.”

 “Sir,” Foster pressed, “This is a hell of a risk.”

 “Missile launch!” Spinelli said. “Five shots, heading for Vendetta. They're out of position to launch a defensive salvo.”

 “Val, I hate to break it to you, but we're losing this battle! If we don't find some way to turn this mess around, then everything we've gone through will be wasted.” Pointing at the planet, just drifting into view, he added, “Cooper will take that control station. We've just got to buy him some time.”  Looking around the bridge, he said, “All of us knew that we might not make it back from this mission. This way we get to have a chance to pull this back from the brink.”

 Turning to the sensor display, he gestured at the missile tracks, and added, “Our friends are fighting for their lives out here, and if we can throw the odds back in their favor, we've got to take the chance. Art, go and get the missiles ready for launch. How long?”

 “About a minute,” the engineer replied, rushing from the bridge, pushing off the wall to slide down the corridor.

 “Can we contact Daedalus?” Salazar asked.

 Shaking his head, Weitzman said, “The whole communications network is down.”

 “Then there's nothing else we can do here. Let's get moving.” Looking around the bridge, somehow both alien and comfortable at the same time, he added, “We'll come back, old girl, and patch you up again. You haven't fought your last battle, not yet.”

 “Getting sentimental in your old age?” Foster asked.

 “Maybe,” he replied. “Let's get down to the shuttle, everyone. Remember to draw sidearms as you pass the locker, and take any spare ammunition you can. Ryan, pass the word to all decks that we're abandoning ship.”

 “Yes, sir.” With a grin on his face, he added, “It'll be good to get to grips with the bastards at last.”

 “Yeah,” Salazar said. As the bridge crew made their way down the corridor, he took a last look at the sensor display, the resolution fading as the power faded away, only the critical systems functioning. Daedalus had another salvo of missiles on her tail, one of them slamming into the rear of the ship while he watched, sending it tumbling forward.

 “Hang on, Kris,” he muttered. “Help's on the way.”

 As he drifted past the arms locker, he snatched a pistol, holster, and three clips of ammo, carefully clipping the belt into position while following the last of his crew. Maqua was just ahead, and the young Neander paused, spinning around to face Salazar as the two of them continued to the shuttle. 

 “Sir, I should fly the mission.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, I don't doubt your experience, but I've got a hundred times your combat experience...”

 “And only one eye.”

 Salazar reached up to his eye-patch, feeling the soft fabric, and said, “Nice try, Sub-Lieutenant, but this is my crazy idea. I could run this approach with both eyes covered, if needed.” Maqua looked down at the deck, and Salazar added, “Don't worry, friend. You're just looking out for the crew, and that's a pretty good trait in an officer.”

 Nodding, he added, “I'm sorry, sir.”

 “Don't be. Let's get going.”

 The whole crew was assembled in the launch bay, slowly filing into the aft section of the shuttle, Doctor Duquesne flashing Salazar an acid look as she pushed a pile of medical kits ahead of her. Missiles were scattered across the elevator airlock, Lombardo going from warhead to warhead, disabling the control safeties with the touch of a button.

 “Never done this before, sir. You think there's a reason this violates standing orders?”

 “Probably some paper-pusher worried about messing up the paintwork,” Salazar said, swinging into the cockpit. Ryan waved him in, drifting out of the way, heading back into the passenger cabin, and Lombardo settled down next to him, tugging his straps into position as he brought the missile controls on-line.

 “What's the story, Art?”

 “I think we're ready,” the engineer replied, nodding. “At least, as ready as we'll ever be.”

 “Last one aboard, sir,” Maqua said. “Hatch sealed.”

 “My boys are at the hatch,” Rhodes added. “We're ready to go as soon as we hit the deck.”

 “Cycling elevator airlock,” Salazar replied. “Everyone strap down, and make sure any equipment is secured. This is going to be quite a ride.” He reached up, throwing a bank of switches, disabling the warning alarms before they could fire, then tapped out a course into the navigational computer as the shuttle started to fall through the deck, the missiles rolling towards them as they dropped with them, ready to be released at the same moment.

 Salazar glanced at Lombardo, the two of them knowing all-too-well the risk they were running with the missiles. That they were usually encased in heavy armored launch tubes wasn't merely to give them a boost as they launched from a ship, but it was always considered extremely hazardous to have anything designed to explode on contact with a ship's hull floating around too close to a shuttle.

 “Air vented, sir,” Lombardo said. “We're clear for the drop.”

 Reaching down to a lever, he released the bottom hatch, and the shuttle drifted clear of the ship, the missiles tumbling after them, floating end over end. A loud clang came from the rear, and Salazar jerked his head back in panic, but the warhead harmlessly floated away, bouncing to a safe distance.

 “Correcting attitude,” Lombardo said, tapping a sequence of commands into the controls. “You know, I actually think this crazy idea might actually work.”

 “Of course it will work,” Salazar said, a smile on his face. “It's got to.”

 He called up the sensor display, a trajectory plot swinging out towards Alamo, two hundred seconds distant at maximum acceleration, as the missiles moved into formation, ready to protect them from the Xandari. The battle waged all around them, Daedalus still in the fight, launching another salvo.

 “Ready?” Salazar asked. 

 “All systems go,” Lombardo replied. “We're cleared for boost at your discretion.”

 “Initiating engine burn,” he said. “We've got a date with an old friend, and I for one have no intention of missing it.” As he slid back into his couch, the engines roaring at the rear, he added, “We're coming home, Alamo. We're coming home.”

Chapter 20

 Harper shook her head as she saw the shuttle detach from Random Walk, surrounded by a swarm of missiles. She looked across at Scott, frantically working the tactical controls, then back at the status board. Two missile impacts so far, a sea of red flooding the board, Kowalski issuing a constant stream of orders into his microphone in a desperate attempt to keep the ship flying.

 “Ingram, any signal from the surface yet, anything at all?” she asked.

 “Nothing intelligible,” the communications technician replied. “I got some reports from Due Diligence that they'd seen an attack taking place down on the deck, at Orbital Command Headquarters, but I couldn't confirm it before we lost contact.”

 “Antagonist's gone!” Arkhipov yelled. “Caught amidships by a missile, blown into two pieces. We've got a few escape pods in the air, but I don't think they're going to make it out of the debris field.” Turning to her, he said, “I don't think there's a single ship that hasn't taken some damage, Captain.”

 “I've got an escape course plotted,” Armstrong added. “If we go for full-burn now, we might be able to get clear of the battlespace. Some of the others should be able to make it with us.” Looking up at the disaster unfolding on the sensor display, she said, “Captain, if we don't take this chance, we're going to die here.”

 The lights flickered, and Kowalski said, “Power distribution network again. We're getting systems failures all across the lower levels, and some of the hull breaches are getting worse. My team can't keep up with the damage.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I think we're done, skipper.”

 “I've got a salvo ready to launch,” Scott added. “The last one. If we hold it for an escape, it should knock down anything the Xandari can throw at us.” Pointing at the screen, she said, “We've got a route out of here. I think they're giving us a way to escape.”

 “Not yet.”

 “Damn it, Kris, we're beaten! They're smashing us to pieces, and we're barely scratching them in reply. Without the defense network on our side, we can't win this fight, and you know it?”

 “Then why are the Xandari trying to encourage us to go?” Arkhipov asked. “Why not finish us off while they have the chance.” He turned to the sensor display, eyes widening, and said, “Salazar's shuttle! He's making for Alamo, Captain, at full burn.”

 “He's surrendering,” Armstrong said, her words a leaden weight on the hearts of every crewman on the bridge. Harper looked up at the sensor display, a knot of fear in her stomach, then magnified the image with the touch of a control, a smile slowly spreading on her face.

 “If he's given up, why has he taken a halo of missiles with him,” she said. “Pavel isn't surrendering, he's launching a boarding action! He's trying to take Alamo back from the Xandari!”

 “That's crazy,” Armstrong replied. “He doesn't have a chance in hell.”

 “One more chance that we had a minute ago, and besides, Ark's right. We're not going to win this battle if we fall apart at the first setback. Cooper will get those satellites turned, and Pavel will find a way to at least take Alamo out of the fight. We've just got to make sure they've got the time to pull it off. Armstrong, alter course. Take us directly towards the battlecruiser squadron.” Turning towards the rear, she added, “Ingram, see who you can raise, and put together a flotilla for me. Any ships able to respond are to follow us in.”

 “Scott,” Armstrong said. “We...”

 “Midshipman, unless you want to start saluting the sanitation technicians, you will obey the Captain's orders at once,” Scott barked. “She knows what she's doing!”

 “Yes, ma'am,” Armstrong replied, turning back to her station. “Initiating course change.” Behind her, Ingram worked his controls, desperately trying to punch the message through to the other ships, trying to bring some order into the chaotic battlefield. Harper looked back at the tactical display, shaking her head at the tangle of ships, missiles and debris filling orbital space.

 The Koltoc were keeping together, just about, but had managed to get themselves onto the far side of the planet in a bid to engage Alamo, foiled when the battlecruiser altered course at the last minute. They'd be out of the fighting for a while. That left the Neander, and Colonel Kilquan's force was scattered, each one operating independently, the heart of the squadron ripped out after the unlucky hit that crippled Random Walk.

 Only Vendetta and Red Avenger were responding to the call, angling around to come in behind Daedalus on its desperate pass. Up ahead, all three of the Xandari battlecruisers were clustering in, moving to wipe out her formation. She glanced at the status monitor, shaking her head. Fifteen missiles across all three ships. The enemy force could put up more than that in a single salvo. She looked at Armstrong, watched the young officer's hands maneuvering the controls as the engine roared, pushing the crippled ship into position.

 “Update on the damage report,” Kowalski said. “Launch Tube Three is out. We can fire the missile that's in there now, but we can't load another one.” He shrugged, and added, “Not that we've got one to load, anyway. Starboard sensor network has failed, combination of surface damage and power failure, and we're getting amber alerts from the life support system. I don't think it's going to last much longer.” Turning to Harper, he added, “Probably not an issue on this heading.”

 “Still time for you to get to the escape pods, Chief.” Kowalski smiled, and turned back to his station, resuming his battle with the incremental damage creeping across the ship, cascade failures throwing more of the panel a dull red, only a handful of systems remaining resolutely green. He only had to keep the ship together for the next fifteen minutes. After that, it wouldn't matter.

 “One minute, ten seconds to firing range,” Scott said, and Harper looked back at Salazar, reaching down to her controls in an attempt to open a channel to him, shaking her head as the static roared from the speaker. The Xandari were still jamming their communications, and a shuttle simply didn't have the computational power to punch a message through. It was difficult enough even for a ship like Daedalus.

 “Shadowdancer's gone!” Arkhipov said, and Harper saw the ship die, at the top end of the screen, a trio of missiles seeming to creep up on her. A halo of escape pods surrounding it, the crew having just enough warning to abandon ship before the debris wave could get them. They'd live, if any of them did, though if her forces didn't win the battle, the Xandari would either execute or enslave them.

 “Come on, Pavel,” she muttered, as a wave of Salazar's missiles streaked away, reaching out towards an incoming salvo from Alamo. Whoever was commanding that ship – their ship – had worked out what he was planning. When he boarded, he wouldn't be getting much of a welcome. Assuming he hadn't suffered any casualties, that shuttle was carrying sixteen people, only four of whom were trained Espatiers. Against more than a hundred Xandari.

 “Forty-five seconds,” Scott said. “Missile salvo ready to fire. Targeting priority?”

 “Defensive,” Harper replied. “I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal. I'd have no objection to living through this run.”

 “I'm glad to hear it,” Kowalski added, sotto voce.

 “Setting for proximity detonation,” Scott said. “Though if I get a chance for a shot, I'll take it. I wouldn't mind knocking a few chunks off one of those ships on the way past.”

 The tracks were converging now, the sensor display growing simpler as the two squadrons approached. Three small raiders against three battlecruisers, a strategic nightmare by any stretch of the imagination. A quick scan of the damage reports streaming in from the Neander ships confirmed their bravery; if anything, Red Avenger was in a worse condition than Daedalus, and Vendetta had taken a pair of missile hits in the aft section, enough to cut her acceleration in half.

 “Connect me through to the ship,” Harper said, reaching down for her microphone.

 “You're on, skipper,” Ingram said, throwing a switch. “At least that still works.”

 “This is the Captain. In about thirty seconds, we're going to be engaging the bulk of the enemy fleet. I know we're facing long odds, but I know that we've got to buy our friends time to get their forces into the battle.” Looking at Scott, she added, “Remember this. A man isn't finished when he is defeated. He is only finished when he quits. I don't intend to. Harper out.”

 “Who said that?” Armstrong asked. “Patton?”

 “Close. Nixon,” Harper replied with a smile. “One of my father's favorite quotes.”

 “Twenty-five seconds,” Scott said. “Remember that talk we had before we jumped?”

 “Sure.”

 “I'm glad you decided not to follow my advice.” Resting her hands on the launch controls, she said, “I'd rather see this one through to the end.” Glancing at a readout, she added, “Salazar's shuttle is still running true. Looks like he's trying for auxiliary control. Smart play.”

 “Armstrong, initiate evasive pattern,” Harper ordered. “Arkhipov, focus all remaining sensor assets on those battlecruisers. If someone on the bridge blinks, I need to know about it right away.”

 Shaking his head, Kowalski said, “I'm pulling my teams back to the core of the ship, Captain. No sense getting them killed when the crap starts flying out there.”

 “Energy spike!” Arkhipov reported. “Multiple launches, eighteen missiles in the air, conventional type.” He paused for a second, then added, “Six each, skipper. Nice and fair.”

 “Launching salvo,” Scott replied, and the ship rocked as the missiles raced away, tracks blinking onto the screen. Behind them, the Neander raiders followed their lead, and ten missiles dived towards eighteen, Scott slaving the salvo to her control, dueling her counterpart on the Xandari ships. The game was simple enough, to do as much damage as possible to the incoming swarm of targets. A good tactical officer could take out multiple missiles with a single impact, tossing fragments of debris into the targets, but on this scale, survival was a matter of statistics, not skill.

 Harper reached down to her electronic warfare panel, burying herself in her work, trying once again to probe into the missile control systems, break through the firewall and damage the equipment. On occasion, the Xandari used borrowed missiles, making this simple, but today they had reverted to their own equipment, and despite everything she'd learned in the last months of the war, she hadn't been able to find a way to break through. The few triumphs she'd managed had worked on the basis of flooding their inputs with extraneous data, but if she tried that now she'd do more damage to Daedalus' battered systems than those of the missiles.

 She glanced up at Salazar again, still sweeping through the missile screen launched from Alamo, more than a minute to his target. At least the Xandari battlecruisers were concentrating on her attack now, not his assault. If it took throwing her ship away to give him a chance to retake Alamo, that was a good trade, tactically.

 Scott waved her fist in the air, whooping in triumph as a cascade of explosions rippled across the screen, wiping almost all of the trajectory tracks from the display. Only two solitary missiles staggered through the devastation, and Red Avenger launched its remaining warheads to intercept them. Armstrong looked back at Harper, a smile wide on her face, then turned back to her station, running the acceleration as high as she dared, the Neander ships surging after them as they dived for the battlecruisers.

 “Remind me to promote you, Kat,” Harper said, shaking her head.

 “It's all in the hands,” Scott replied. “Closest approach in sixty seconds.”

 Arkhipov turned, shaking his head, and said, “Energy spike.” His voice was listless, that of a man announcing his own death sentence. “Eighteen missiles, direct course. Six each, again.”

 “Confirmed,” Scott said, looking up at the screen. With a deep sigh, she added, “Forty-five seconds to impact. Escape pods couldn't clear the ship in time, even if we launched immediately.”

 Sitting back in her chair, Harper said, “Well, I guess that about wraps it up, folks. It has been an honor and a privilege to serve with you all.” She looked around the bridge, her crew still working to the end, then back to the sensor display, watching the missiles as they tracked in, the enemy gunner moving to envelop them, placing his hits to guarantee destruction. She couldn't even order them to ram. Daedalus would be dead fifteen seconds too soon for that to work.

 “Wait one,” Arkhipov said. “I'm getting some odd heat signatures from the battlecruisers, something burning very hot.” A smile broke out across his face, and he said, “It's the Koltoc! They must have burned every scrap of fuel they've had to get here this soon.” Turning back to his console, he added, “Multiple launches, full strength salvo!”

 Leaning forward, unable to speak, Harper watched as the Koltoc missiles, safeties disabled for maximum acceleration, raced towards the approaching Xandari swarm. The display attempted to calculate the impact point, then gave up, unable to cope with the rapid changes of acceleration, the efforts of the enemy to push their attack despite the Koltoc intervention.

 “Ten seconds,” Scott said.

 “Pray,” Harper replied. “If you remember how.”

 A blinding flash swept the screen, and the hull rattled with the force of impacts all along their flank, Kowalski cursing as he worked his board, shaking his head in frustration. The screen was clear. All enemy missiles gone, along with the Koltoc interceptors, and they swept past the battlecruisers into free space, safe in their wake.

 “Signal from Colonel Skeuros,” Ingram said. “He suggests that you owe him a drink.”

 “Tell him I'll buy him the whole damn bar,” she replied. Turning back to the screen, she muttered, “Come on, Cooper. It's all down to you.”

Chapter 21

 Salazar deftly guided the shuttle onto final approach, Alamo's familiar hull looming ahead of him, lights winking as though the ship herself was inviting her wayward children home. Lombardo, the last of his missiles expended, poked at his console, desperately trying to force the two docking computers to handshake, but the dour expression on his face suggested that he was having little success. Finally, he looked up at the pilot, shaking his head.

 “You'll have to go full-manual.”

 “If that's the worst thing that happens in this assault, Art, I'll be happy.” Pulling out the thruster control, he stared up at the docking view, trying to keep the cross-hairs lined up, correcting for the course changes Alamo's helmsman was attempting, a tick trying to settle onto a wild, charging elephant. Manual docking was hard enough if the ship was stationary, but he was spilling thruster fuel just to keep the shuttle close.

 “Read it out,” Salazar said. “Tens, fives, ones.”

 “Forty meters,” Lombardo said. “Watch it, Pavel.”

 “I know, I know.” He tapped the lateral thruster, gaining ground at every opportunity, unwilling to concede even a centimeter in their orbital ballet, bearing down upon the welcoming airlock. He tried not to think what would be waiting on the far side, certain that the enemy commander would have prepared a hostile reception for them.

 “Thirty meters. Keep it coming.”

 “Roger.” A soft touch to port, then a harder turn to starboard as the ship veered away, precious ground lost as he dived in. For a second, Alamo flew level, and he fired his lateral thrusters as hard as he dared, soaring in close, having to counter his own thrust as he ran the ship dangerously fast, moving for a collision.

 “Ten, Pavel! Watch it!” Turning to the rear, Lombardo said, “Rhodes, stand by for assault.” 

 “Locked and loaded,” the trooper replied, standing at the hatch, rifle in hand.

 “Come on, old girl, just relax,” Salazar said, drifting in the final meters, gently playing his thrusters as he struggled to keep the cross-hairs lined up. If he didn't get this perfectly right, they'd just bounce off, thrown clear of the ship by the centrifugal force of the artificial gravity. Somehow he didn't think that the Xandari would give him a second chance at this.

 “Five. Four. Three,” Lombardo said, and finally, with a loud clang, the two ships made contact. For a desperate heartbeat, nothing happened, before a series of wailing grounds sounded from the docking port, the clamps locking the shuttle in position. The engineer turned to him with a look of disbelief, shaking his head.

 “You did it,” he said.

 “Don't look so shocked,” Salazar said, throwing off his straps. “Rhodes, go now!”

 The airlocks slid open, and the rattle of semi-automatic fire echoed through the shuttle as the Espatier team fired blind, catching a pair of overly courageous Xandari who had been waiting for them, weapons in hand. Without waiting for orders, Rhodes raced onto the ship, his squad surging after him, sprinting down the corridor to secure a beachhead for the others.

 Salazar followed, eyes wide as he walked the familiar decks once again, stepping out into the area behind the emergency bridge. While the troopers hastily assembled a barricade out of anything they could find, settling into position to repel the expected counter-attack, Hooke moved over to the nearest terminal, connecting his datapad and dropping to the floor, hugging behind a suit locker for cover.

 “How long?” Salazar asked. 

 “Wait one,” Hooke said, as the rest of the crew walked out behind him, pistols in hand, moving into defensive positions as Rhodes directed. Duquesne gestured for her assistant, the two of them claiming an empty storage unit, laying out the medical kits for the anticipated casualties.

 “Come on, Hooke, how long?”

 “I'm through the first firewall,” the hacker replied. “Three, four minutes, I think.”

 “You think?”

 “I've never done this before, damn it. For some reason no one ever gave me permission to execute an uncontrolled shutdown from a wall access station. I'm going to have to do a lot of improvising to make this work, so don't distract me and make sure you keep those bastards off me for a few minutes. I know what I'm doing.”

 “Company's on the way!” Rhodes yelled.

 Salazar moved forward, sliding into position behind the trooper, and peered down the corridor. Abruptly, the lights flared out, the red emergency circuit cutting in, throwing dull shadows into the distance. An obvious move, but one that was going to make their lives a lot more difficult. He settled into cover, pistol at the ready, and tugged his spare clips of ammunition out of his pocket, resting them where he could reach them easily.

 “Here they come!” Ghaison said, opening fire in response to his own call to action, the crack of gunfire slamming into the far wall as shaggy shapes moved forward, Xandari troops in their battle armor. A wave of bullets washed overhead, slashing into the hatch at the rear, and Rhodes leaned into his sights, carefully taking a shot that dropped the leading enemy soldier to the deck. After a second, the Xandari rose again, continuing his advance, only brought down by a second shot from Salazar.

 “Damn, these bastards don't even know when to die,” Rhodes muttered, throwing his rifle to semi-automatic and firing a brief pulse of ammunition down the corridor. He glanced across at the service hatch, looking at Salazar, and shook his head. “They'll work around us quick enough, sir. Likely they've got people on their way through the decks already.”

 “Hooke, how long?” Salazar yelled.

 “Every time you interrupt me, it gets longer.”

 “Damn it, Hooke, we're going to die here if you don't get a move on. How long?”

 “Two minutes minus. I'm getting there.”

 “Get there faster,” he urged, turning back to the corridor. Three Xandari were walking towards them, shrugging off gunfire that ricocheted from their battle armor. None of the weapons they'd had on Random Walk were armor-piercing, all the usual ship-side loads designed to do minimal damage to equipment. A glance at the far wall suggested that the enemy weren't playing by the same rules, the rear hatch now hanging from a single hinge, threatening to drop at any moment.

 “Got an idea,” Ghaison said, the Neander looking across with a cheeky grin. Before anyone could stop him, he broke cover, racing towards the enemy, hurling himself at the nearest while gunshots rained down all around him, a bullet smashing into his foot, leaving it a bloody ruin as he collapsed on his target, sending the two of them rolling to the floor.

 “No!” Rhodes yelled, firing at the Xandari behind him. He was too late, Ghaison dying to a shot in the back by one of the advancing enemies. Salazar looked up, shaking his head, then heard a scream from the rear as another burst of gunfire raced towards them, a technician staggering back with blood streaming down her face, one of her comrades dragging her back to Duquesne.

 “Come on, damn it,” Hooke muttered, stabbing controls on his datapad. “Come on.”

 One of the Xandari was down now, a lucky shot bringing him down, but more reinforcements were on the way, and Rhodes glanced across at Salazar, shaking his head before returning to the firing line.

 “Better get those last words ready, sir.”

 “Not today, Frank,” Salazar said. He glanced back at Hooke, then up at the wall clock, preparing himself for a desperate sprint towards the enemy. Any chance to buy a few seconds might be enough, might give them the window of opportunity the hacker needed to complete his work. Foster or Lombardo could finish the job just as well as he could.

 Taking a deep breath, he waited for a brief pause in the battle, the leading Xandari ejecting his spent ammunition clip on the floor, then fired a trio of shots as he rose out of cover. A bullet ripped down his leg, white-hot agony from the force of the impact slowing him down.

 “Got it!” Hooke said, and the airtight hatch slammed shut, isolating them from the rest of the ship. The Xandari raced forward, trying to beat the hatch, but a series of thumps on the closed bulkhead announced their failure. Salazar turned to Hooke, shaking his head.

 “Great work. How much control have you got?”

 “Theoretically, I can do anything you want, but in practical terms I'm limited to this baby.” He waved the datapad around, and added, “I've already shut down command access. As for the rest, give me a hint.”

 “Shut down life support in all sections other than this one. Reduce the pressure to one-twentieth. That should prevent any equipment damage and put all our friends to sleep. And seal all suit lockers. We don't want any uninvited guests.”

 “Done,” Hooke replied, tapping a series of controls. “Pressure reduced, and I've thrown up every airtight bulkhead. The whole ship will be out cold in minutes.”

 Frowning, Rhodes said, “Some of them are bound to have grabbed respirators, skipper.”

 “Maybe, but the bulkheads should slow them down. And I don't think they'll exactly love stratospheric pressure levels, either.” Turning to the rear, he said, “Doc?”

 “I'm busy,” Duquesne yelled. “Pass me that hypo, Dass.”

 “How long before they go under?”

 With a sigh, the doctor replied, “Seventy seconds for safety.”

 Nodding, Salazar moved to the bulkhead, pistol in hand, and said, “Hooke, on the count of seventy, I want a path clear from here to auxiliary control. And see what you can do about the jamming, as well. It might be nice to be able to tell someone we've taken back control.”

 “That'll have to wait for the bridge,” Hooke said.

 “Seventy seconds,” Ryan said, shaking her head. “When we take the bridge, what then?”

 “I want you and Rhodes to make for Life Support, just in case someone decides to commit a copy-cat crime, then go deck-to-deck. Toss all the Xandari into one of the storage bays, and lock them up.”

 Frowning, he replied, “That could take hours, Pavel.”

 “Remember the story of the journey of a thousand miles? We've got to start somewhere.” He glanced at his watch, impatiently tapping his foot, and said, “Damn it, we come all this way and we're stuck here, waiting?”

 Foster frowned, and said, “I suppose I should point out that we don't have any means of knowing whether the Xandari have come up with some way to stop us. For all we know, there are a dozen of them waiting outside with rifles at the ready.”

 “We'll just have to take that chance,” Salazar said. “Rhodes, take down the guards in the corridor ahead, and any we see on the way to the bridge.” As the trooper began to protest, he added, “I know, I know, it stinks, but if we allow them to wake up, we won't have a chance of stopping them. We can take prisoners in non-critical areas, but if we don't retake the ship, a lot of people are going to die.”

 “Understood, sir,” the stern-faced trooper replied. “We'll do our duty.”

 “Time's up,” Hooke said, tapping a control. The door slid open, and Salazar realized that the orders he had given were moot as he saw the sprawled bodies of the Xandari on the floor, blood soaking into the carpets. He turned to Foster, and shook his head.

 “They knew they'd had it,” he said. His face turned pale, and he said, “They'll have told the rest of their fleet. We're going to be under attack in minutes!” Without another word, he sprinted through the bulkheads ahead, racing for the auxiliary bridge before the doors could fully open, heedless of the risk. Foster was a second behind him, tossing her empty pistol away in her race.

 “Those battlecruisers were five minutes away, minus!” she yelled. “If they've been warned...”

 “Then we've got seconds to respond, if we're lucky.”

 Bodies littered the corridors, Xandari in the majority, some Copernican technicians lying on the deck, gunshots to the chest, killed by their slavers to deny them any chance of living through the battle. Finally, Salazar reached the bridge, and looked at the door for a moment before tapping the release, stepping into the room.

 Everything was just as he'd remembered it. A pair of Xandari were slumped by the flight engineering console, and Rhodes dragged the bodies out of the way as Foster raced for tactical, dropping down into the chair. Maqua, at a nod from Salazar, took the helm, the console controls sliding into his preferred positions.

 The command chair sat empty at the heart of the room, waiting. Salazar looked down at it, took a deep breath, and sat at the heart of the bridge, his crew racing for their stations, moving to take control of their ship. Leaning forward, he turned to Weitzman, the technician eagerly assuming his old position.

 “Put me through to all ships.”

 “You're on, sir,” Weitzman replied. “The jamming is down.”

 “This is Acting Captain Pavel Salazar of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. All allied ships form on us. We're going in.”

Chapter 22

 Cooper woke to a chorus of cheers, Salazar's voice in the background calling the ships in orbit to war. He looked at his side, his vision swimming, and saw Donegan leaning over him, working on his arm, and his wife standing next to him, a concerned frown on her face. Cantrell turned from the controls, raising an eyebrow as he forced his eyes open, reaching out with his good arm.

 “Morning, Gabe,” Cantrell said. “You just woke up in time to hear Pavel Salazar recapturing Alamo.” Shaking her head, she said, “God only knows how he pulled that trick off, but it isn't going to hold for long unless we can do something about supporting him from down here.”

 Struggling to talk, Cooper asked, “Satellites?”

 “Coming on-line now. They've tried to transfer control three times, but now that Alamo's back under our flag, they don't have anywhere left to move it too.” With a smile, she added, “Smart of us not to give them too many command options when we built the damn thing, wasn't it.”

 “Help me up,” Cooper said, struggling to rise.

 Frowning, Donegan replied, “I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir. You caught a lot of shrapnel in that arm, after the bullet went through, and lost a lot of blood. You're better off where you are.”

 Looking up at the medic, he said, “You can give me something to get back on my feet.”

 With a reluctant nod, Donegan said, “I could.”

 “Gabe, you're wounded,” Bradley said. “Act like it.”

 “In about ten minutes, the battle for this planet will be over, one way or another,” Cooper said, grinding his teeth from the pain shooting down his side. “After that I can take as much time off as I want, but I've got to be operational until then.” Turning to Donegan, he added, “Specialist, I'm giving you a direct order to get me on my God-damned feet on the double.”

 With a sigh, the medic pulled a hypodermic out of his medical kit, injecting it into his arm, and said, “Don't even think about using that arm, or you'll fall unconscious. You can get up, but you aren't going to be doing any more fighting for a while.”

 “What about the Xandari surface force?”

 Cantrell glanced at a monitor, and replied, “Four minutes, give or take. I've got Moretti and Walpis working on the defenses.” A light flashed on, and she added, “Got it. We've got full control of the missile satellites. Standing by to fire first salvo.”

 “No,” Cooper grunted, his wife helping him stagger to his feet. He lurched towards the panel, and said, “Not yet.”

 “What are you waiting for?”

 “Don't you understand,” he said, gasping through the pain. “We might only get one shot at this. The battlecruisers aren't in position.” Waving his good arm at the sensor display, he said, “Three minutes, and all three of them will be in range for two full salvos, close enough together that they won't get any defensive fire.”

 “Gabe, the Xandari could be here by then.” Holding her hand over the controls, she added, “If we mess this up, Alamo will be wiped out, and the rest of our forces with them. They're depending on us to save them.”

 “No,” he said. “If they just wanted safety, they wouldn't have come back in the first place. They came back because they wanted victory, and we're going to deliver it to them on a platter, but that means waiting for the optimum firing window.”

 “He's right,” Bradley said.

 Looking at the medic, Cantrell asked, “Cooper's still wounded, right? That means I'm in command here.” Turning to Saltzman, she added, “Prepare firing start-up sequence.”

 “Belay that order, Private,” Cooper said, his vision starting to blur again. “We wait.”

 “I gave you an order,” Cantrell replied.

 Shaking his head, Saltzman said, “I take my orders from Lieutenant Cooper, just as long as he can stand.”

 “From the look of him, that's about sixty seconds,” Cantrell said. Overhead, the whirr of a helicopter raced through the air, and she added, “Assuming we have that long.”

 “We wait,” Cooper said, looking at the screen. The trajectory tracks of the battlecruisers were moving towards Alamo, engines burning wildly at full thrust to bring them to the target. Firing projects flashed onto the display, and Cantrell shook her head. Eighteen missile impacts on Alamo would effectively reduce the ship to floating debris, and the best chance they had to win the battle would be over, then and there.

 “Gabe,” Bradley said, shaking him. “Hold it together, Gabe.”

 “I'm fine,” he replied.

 “Don't be a fool,” she said.

 Turning to the compound, he watched as the troopers worked, struggling to plug the gap he'd torn in the wall with the kamikaze truck, the rattle of cannon fire as a pair of Neander worked the damaged anti-aircraft gun, trying to bring down the orbiting helicopter. And bodies, scattered everywhere, dozens of them, some of them wearing Copernican uniform, others in the tunics of the farmers he'd recruited his army from.

 A tear trickled down his face, and he tried to wipe it clear before anyone could see, turning with a sad smile to Bradley, her mouth sagging as she looked into his eyes. He shook his head, then looked back at the screen, watching the ships move in their celestial dance. Overhead, there was an explosion, followed by a cheer from the troops, the enemy helicopter spiraling to the ground beyond the perimeter wall, the two Neander gunners clapping each other on the back as though their team had won the championship.

 Cantrell sat down at the console, setting up for the attack, nervously glancing at the door. With his wife by his side, Cooper sat next to her, resting his good arm on the controls, hand holding the launch key. Saltzman was frantically working his panel, disabling the safety systems, ensuring that the control computers knew who the bad guys were, had the correct transponder frequencies to target the right ships.

 “God, Harper's coming around again,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “They can't have a missile left in their arsenal, but she's coming in for another pass!”

 “Any word from Kepler City?” Cooper asked.

 “Chaos and confusion. One report had Captain Orlova leading a thousand troops down Main Street with Wulf's head on a pike, another said she'd been killed, and the government was shelling the commercial district to put down the revolt. Fifty people with communicators, all of them telling a different story, and the news network has gone dark.” With a nervous glance at the door, she added, “I guess we'll find out soon enough, one way or another.”

 “Sir,” Walpis said, ducking his head inside. “Enemy forces within sight. Two hundred plus, regular soldiers with Xandari support.” Cooper made to rise, but Bradley pushed him down into the chair, applying just enough pressure on his wounded arm to convince him of the wisdom of her argument.

 “Take it, Corporal,” he said. “Hold them as long as you can. Mortars, machine guns, hell, use harsh language if that's all you've got, but keep them off us for a few minutes.”

 “Yes, sir,” Walpis said, turning back to the compound. “Mortars at the ready, volley fire on my command. Machine gun crews to open up when you have a clear shot. Don't wait, nail the bastards!”

 “He's a good man,” Bradley said, leaning next to Cooper. “He knows what to do.”

 “I should be out there with them,” he replied, wincing.

 “The art of leadership is delegation,” she said, shaking her head.

 “One minute to firing window,” Cantrell added. Outside, an explosion rattled the ground, dust showering down from the roof, a thin beam of sunlight leaking through a crack in the wall that hadn't been there a moment ago. Cooper glanced up at the ceiling with a concerned frown. This bunker had taken a lot of damage already, and it hadn't really been built with such a major assault in mind. A stray hit might make holding this fort a waste of time.

 From outside, the rattle of machine gun fire started to rumble, Walpis directing the troops. A series of explosions roared, out beyond the remnants of the wall. His garrison was putting together a better defense than the original owners had, but the odds against them were far greater. Fumbling with his good hand, Cooper slid on a headset, flicking a switch.

 “Lieutenant Cooper to Acting Captain Salazar. Come in, please.”

 “Gabe?” Salazar replied, a brief second later. “Damn it, we'd just about given up on you. What's the situation on the surface? Have you got satellite control?”

 With a deep, hacking breath, Cooper said, “We're ready to launch a pair of salvos in thirty and fifty seconds. As soon as the enemy ships get into position.” Rubbing the sweat from his forehead, he added, “We're only going to get one good shot at this, Pavel. We've got to make it count.”

 “It's your play, Gabe. You set them up, we'll knock them down.” He paused, then asked, “You didn't answer my question.”

 “Situation desperate, but that doesn't matter,” Cooper pressed. “We'll give you that shot, but at a guess it'll be the last one you get. I intend to set the network to self-destruct so that it can't be used against you.” He gestured at Cantrell, who nodded, throwing switches to enable to detonators. “Just make this count, Pavel. That's all I ask.”

 “I can get a shuttle down to you,” Salazar began.

 “Damn it, Pavel, there's no time for that. Forget about us. We're dead. Just win the war.”

 With a soft sigh, Salazar replied, “Understood. Hold on as long as you can. Alamo out.”

 Cooper looked around the room, and said, “Anyone disagree with my assessment?” His words were punctuated by explosions outside, smashing into the plasticrete of the landing pad, ripping huge chunks into the material. A long, wailing scream followed, dying along with the man behind it, and he added, “We knew the risk. We've got to hold.” Gesturing at the screen, he said, “Ready for firing?”

 “All ready at my end,” Cantrell said. “I make it ten seconds to firing.”

 Grim satisfaction began to rise within Cooper as he looked at the display, trying to ignore the carnage taking place outside, the screams of his men as they held onto the fort with their fingernails, the sounds of battle growing ever louder as the Xandari brought more of their firepower to bear. Another explosion smashed down right beside them, more debris tumbling from the ceiling, panels crashing to the floor behind Saltzman, who moved just in time to avoid a steel beam slamming down into the place he had been sitting an instant before.

 “Two seconds. One. Mark. First salvo away,” Cantrell said. “Preparing second salvo. Fifteen seconds to firing.”

 “Confirmed,” Cooper said, watching as the missile tracks appeared on the screen, eighteen targets bearing down on the Xandari battlecruisers, the tactic they had used to win the First Battle of Copernicus now turned against them for the Second. Instantly, all three ships launched their defensive screen, the tracks locking onto each other, but as the countdown to the second salvo trickled down, Cooper knew that it wasn't going to be enough.

 “Five seconds,” Cantrell said. “Four. Three. Two. One. Mark. Second salvo fired.” Turning to Cooper, she continued, “This is going to take us both. Rotate destruct key to set on my mark. Mark.”

 The two keys turned at the same time, a wave of red lights running up the console as the satellites responded to the signal. Cooper looked across at Cantrell, who nodded in response.

 “Rotate destruct key to detonate on my mark. Two. One. Mark.”

 Both keys turned again, and the red lights turn to black. Up in space, the missile satellites they had come so far to capture, had risked so much to secure, exploded one after another in a series of anti-climactic detonations, tumbling debris sliding through orbit, no longer capable of having any impact on the battle up in space.

 “All missiles running steady,” Saltzman said, but before he could add any detail, all the systems died, the lights fading out. “Power failure.”

 “I figured they'd try for the generator,” Cantrell said, rising from her console. “They probably cut us off from the main grid seconds after they found out we'd taken control. Since there's nothing further we can do here, my friends, I suggest we go outside and see if we can help out there.”

 “No you don't, Gabe,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “We're staying right here. Your battle is over.”

 Nodding, Cooper slumped in his seat, looking up at Cantrell. “Take it, Lisa. Do what's necessary.”

 “Don't I always?” she asked, flashing a smile. “We'll be back on Alamo in an hour.”

 “Sure,” he said. “Assuming there's anything up there left to go back to.” He looked at the dark panels, a smile creeping onto his face. It might have cost them dozens of lives, might have ended his own, but they'd completed the mission. Even if they all died now, it wouldn't be for nothing. With an effort, he reached across with his good hand to take that of his wife, looking into her eyes. She pulled out a pistol, placing it between them on the console.

 “Two shots,” she said. “Just in case.”

 Nodding, he replied, “My birthday isn't for another week.”

 “I thought I'd better give it to you early. In the circumstances.”

 “I love you,” he said.

 “Me too,” she replied. “Me too.”

Chapter 23

 Orlova ran down the street, cheering crowds all around urging her on, a column of troops trailing behind her. It felt as though the whole planet had risen as one when the sirens sounded, and she saw Nelyubov and Flannery at her side, both of them waving to the people. She turned a corner, and her face fell, the mob in the process of hanging a trio of Xandari who had been unfortunate enough to be caught.

 “They aren't saints,” Nelyubov said. “We don't have time to waste on them, anyway.” Council House was just ahead, the seat of government, one of the few parts of the city still occupied by the enemy. Her communicator chirped, and a message flashed across the display, a notification that the harbor had surrendered.

 A significant minority of her hastily assembled force were government troops who had switched sides, either because they had been biding their time to revolt or because they'd decided to join the winners to escape being lynched. For today, that didn't matter, though a glance back at the eager crowd executing their enemies warned her that the recovery was going to be a long process.

 Jogging ahead of the crowd, she saw a group of guards manning a defensive line, looking from side to side. None of them had any command insignia, and as soon as they saw her, they raised their hands, eager to surrender.

 “Kill them!” a voice cried from the crowd. “Kill the traitors!”

 “They've surrendered,” Flannery replied. “Let the bastards be.”

 Orlova moved up to the nearest, and asked, “What's the story in there?”

 “The President's taken command of an elite squad,” the man replied, keeping his hands raised high over his head. “The Xandari left an hour ago, heading out-country.” Looking from side to side, he said, “I'm a janitor, for God's sake, not a soldier. They put me in a uniform, gave me a gun, and put me out here this morning. I don't want to die.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “You've got two choices. Come with us and lead the way, or I doubt you'll live through the hour.”

 Grim resolution filled the young man's face, and he replied, “I'll join you.”

 Turning to the crowd, Orlova yelled, “They're with us! I sent them ahead to watch the building. Form a defensive perimeter and make sure no one can escape. All soldiers, with me! We're going to take the bastards down!”

 The mob murmured, and Flannery said, “You heard the Captain! The President's the real traitor, and she's sitting up in her penthouse laughing at us. I think it's time she answered to the voice of the people, don't you?” Under his breath, he said, “God, forgive me, but I've got to save as many of them as I can.” 

 Clapping him on the shoulder, Orlova said, “Amen to that, Father. Amen to that.” Turning back to the janitor, she said, “What's your name, son?”

 “Ricardo, ma'am. Giuseppe. I guess I'm a Ca, I mean, Corporal.”

 “Then lead the way, Corporal. We're all with you.” She reached down, picked up the man's discarded rifle, and handed it back to him. “Take it.”

 “I don't even know how to fire it,” he replied, shaking his head with a nervous smile. “This way.”

 The group surged up the stairs, forcing open the double doors to the lobby. She looked around, waiting for the trap, her force quickly sweeping through the floor, tearing offices and rooms to pieces, but each of the section leaders turned back with a shake of the head.

 “Watch for records,” one of the mob yelled. “We want everything nice and legal when we hang the bastards.” Orlova locked eyes with Flannery, sad desperation filling the priest's eyes, then turned for the stairwell, Ricardo moving a nervous step ahead of her, his eyes darting around, waiting for the bullet he feared to reach him.

 “How many floors?” she asked.

 “Twenty-One,” he replied. “They were planning to make their stand up at the top, somewhere. I think there's a helicopter on the roof as well, just in case.”

 “That won't do them any good,” Sergeant Hunt said, a stolen Xandari rifle nestled in his hands. “They don't have anywhere to run, not on this planet.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Sergeant, organize groups of men to stop on each floor. I want them to search for any hostiles, make sure no one is stuck in our rear. Use locals where you can.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he said, as she turned to the stairs, Flannery chasing after her.

 “You're keeping them out of the way,” he said, nodding. “Making sure they don't do something that we're all going to regret tomorrow.”

 “That, and they're civilians, Father. We're the soldiers. We're meant to take the risks to keep them safe.” Shaking her head, she added, “If this had gone to any sort of plan, they wouldn't be up here at all.”

 “This is their world, Captain,” Flannery said. “They have the right to fight for it, and to die for it, if that is their choice.” With a sigh, he added, “Half of the commercial district is still on fire from that idiot last stand. I think the fire brigade is responding, but the streets are so crowded, I don't know whether they will get through.”

 “You should be out there, Father, not at the head of the assault.”

 “I go where I am needed, Captain, and I venture that this is where I am meant to be.”

 The group raced up the stairs, the combat training of the Triplanetary veterans rapidly showing as they outpaced the civilians, passing one floor after another, clusters of men sweeping to the side at Hunt's command to search the bypassed rooms. Only Flannery stayed with them, red-faced and panting but determined to be there for the end.

 “Signal, Captain!” Nelyubov said. “Cantrell, I think, though it's garbled as hell. They've taken Planetary Defense Headquarters.”

 “Then it's over,” Orlova said, with a happy sigh.

 “No,” he added, “They're under heavy attack. Not expected to hold out for long. That's a spaceport as well, Maggie, and if that helicopter's going anywhere, my guess is that's the destination.”

 “On the double!” she yelled, finding more energy, digging deep into her reserves as she pushed on, Ricardo falling back as she took the lead, borrowed rifle in her sweat-slick hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure moving out of the shadows, and she dropped to her knees, dragging Nelyubov and Flannery down with her, as a pair of bullets raced overhead, gouging holes into the wood-paneled wall.

 She pulled the trigger, and watched with horror as young man fell out of cover, terror in his eyes, a gaping wound in his chest. He looked up at her, his mouth wide, a silent scream as the weapon tumbled from his hands, dropping down the stairs. He couldn't have been older than sixteen.

 “My God, they're arming kids,” Nelyubov said. “Throwing them into the battle, more meat for the grinder.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “Maggie, you didn't kill him, they did.”

 “I pulled the trigger,” she said, tossing her rifle away as though it was on fire. “All of you stand back. I'm going up by myself. I'm going to end this.”

 “They'll kill you,” he said.

 “Frank, you are ordered to wait here.” She gestured at the stairs, and said, “There's enough blood on the hands of this mob to last them a lifetime. If we can end this without spilling any more, that's worth rising my life.” Before he could protest, she added, “I have to do this, Frank.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “If I hear so much as a gunshot, I'll be up there with a squad before the echo dies. Is that understood?”

 “Of course,” she said.

 “I'm coming with you,” Flannery said, looking at the dead boy on the floor. She nodded, and the two of them climbed the stairs, hands out wide, leaving their weapons behind. The mob tried to surge forward, racing after them, but Nelyubov held them back, her people linking hands to block their passage. They had a little time, at least, to try and end this without more death.

 At the top of the stairwell, two crimson-uniformed guards looked down at them with contempt, one of them raising his rifle to shoot them before the other stopped him with a glare, picking up his communicator and muttering something unintelligible into the pickup. After a brief pause, he gestured for her to come up.

 “The President will see you now. She's willing to discuss terms of surrender.” The sneer grew, and he added, “Yours, naturally.”

 “At least that's a starting point for negotiation,” Flannery replied. The priest looked at the man, frowned, and said, “Raoul, isn't it? How's your father?”

 The guard's face reddened, and he said, “I don't know.” Glancing out at the city, smoke rising from a dozen fires, he added, “I haven't heard from him since you bastards launched your attack.”

 “Have faith, Raoul. All will come well in the end.” Turning to Orlova, the indomitable priest said, “Come on, Captain. I don't think we want to keep the President waiting, do we?”

 The corridor above held a dozen more guards wearing the same distinctive uniforms, who were setting the finishing touches to a defensive fortification, a pair of plasma rifles set to cover the staircase. Orlova looked at the weapons in horror, knowing that one blast would likely kill everyone on the stairs, the backwash having an excellent chance of killing the gunner.

 Another guard stood at attention in front of the final door, pushing it open to allow the two of them to enter. Sitting behind her desk in an unnervingly normal way was the President, the only consideration of the battle being waged a guard standing in the corner of the room at parade rest, rifle by his side, and a shattered window behind her, destroyed in one of the explosions that had wracked the capital.

 “Captain,” she said. “I'll get right to the point. If you surrender immediately...”

 “No,” Orlova said, stepping over to the desk, towering over her. “You're going to die, Madam President. I think we both know that. The only thing you can do is save as many of your people as you can.” Pointing at the window, she said, “They're dying down there, dying by the hundreds, fighting the last death-throes of your regime.”

 “It's true, Magda,” Flannery said. “It might cost us a hundred lives to take this little enclave, but we will, no matter what the cost. And how many people will die in the process?”

 “Don't think your Xandari friends will help you,” Orlova added. “They got out of here as soon as they realized the game was up, and my fleet is winning up in orbit.” 

 Shaking her head, Wulf replied, “You don't believe that, do you? The Xandari still have overwhelming odds, and the missile satellites have been destroyed. That means three battlecruisers against your Alamo, and the last time such a battle was waged, you lost.” Looking up at the two of them, she added, “I was trying to save them, don't you understand? Save them from the very war that you have brought down upon us.”

 “They made their choice,” Flannery said. “It wasn't hard to gather recruits. Thousands of our people volunteered for the Underground. They'd rather die than live under the heel of the Xandari.”

 “It would not have been like that!” Wulf yelled. “They'd have had their war, and they would have moved on. We'd have sent them a tithe every year, and been left to ourselves. We don't need to roam space, not when we've found our paradise right here on Copernicus.”

 “And every year the tithes get harder to raise, and the Xandari put more and more pressure on the government, until soon enough they are the government, and your people are forced into greater and greater squalor. Finally they're left to grub in the dirt for their overlords, their paradise a forgotten dream. That's what waits for your children, Madam President,” Orlova said.

 Closing her eyes, Wulf replied, “It could have been so different. We could have lived in peace. Now the fighting will begin again, and Copernicus will be the battlefield...”

 “The fought was not in ourselves, but in our stars,” Flannery misquoted. “Our ancestors happened to pick a strategically important world to live on. They couldn't have known, and neither could we.” Reaching down for a communicator, he said, “End this now. While you can.” 

 With a curt nod, Wulf looked across at the guard, and said, “Tell the men that I'm ordering them to stand down. They're to get rid of their weapons and allow Captain Orlova's forces up here. Instruct all forces in the city to surrender.” As the guard left the room, hastening to give the orders, she rose from her desk, looking out of the window, her hair fluttering in the breeze. Before Orlova could reach her, Wulf ducked through it, hurling herself out into space.

 “No,” Flannery said, shaking his head.

 “What else could she have done?” Orlova said, with a deep sigh. She turned to the President's computer, still operational, and entered a series of commands. “If she'd lived, the mob would have torn her to pieces.” Text flashed on the screen, the computer asking her to confirm her instructions, and as she pressed 'enter', the display blanked out.

 Looking at the monitor, Flannery asked, “What did you do?”

 “Deleted all files relevant to the Occupation,” she said. “That might not stop all the bloodshed that will hit this world in the next few months, but it might save a few lives. Most of those who collaborated didn't have a choice.”

 Outside, the crowd was singing, flags waving in the air, and the gunfire slowly crept to a halt, the battle coming to a silent end. Flannery looked out at them, shaking his head, then sat down at the desk, lines on his face of a man old before his time.

 “It's over,” he said.

 “Not yet,” Orlova replied, looking up to the sky. “We might have won the battle down here, but if Harper and Salazar don't beat the Xandari up in orbit, this could be a very short celebration.”

Chapter 24

 The thirty-six missiles arcing through space towards the Xandari battlecruisers were the most beautiful sight Harper had ever seen, a wave of trajectory tracks curling into position. The enemy commander had thrown up a full salvo in response, but the Triplanetary missiles were smart enough not to die easily, or quickly. Instead of a straight-in approach, they were taking their time, forming a globe around the perimeter of the Xandari formation, readying to attack in one devastating mass. From a tactical point of view, it was a perfect attack strategy.

 And one that would take at least thirty seconds too long. The three ships were moving towards Alamo, weapons hot, and seemed far less concerned with defending themselves than with seeking vengeance for their impending death. It wouldn't even be a bad idea, strategically. Even if the Xandari were defeated, leaving only a scattered collection of small ships behind would negate everything they had accomplished. If Alamo survived, it could rebuild the defense network in a matter of days. Daedalus could never manage it, would struggle even to make it home to the Confederation.

 Throwing a control, she expanded the image to show the whole of the battlespace, the view far simpler than it had been at the start. She'd entered the system with ten ships, facing an enemy interceptor squadron and four battlecruisers, including Alamo. Now there were only five ships left of those she had brought into the system, the others little more than expanding clouds of debris and drifting escape pods. She hated to think of the casualties they had suffered, but for the present, all that mattered was that only one ship was in a position to do anything to help Alamo. Daedalus. All the others were scattered across local space, the Koltoc ships almost out of fuel, the Neander out of position.

 Armstrong had placed the ship on a low, loping trajectory to bring them underneath the enemy formation, hoping to coordinate with Alamo, but with a few quick course changes they would be able to drive into the heart of the battle. She looked down at the status monitor, shaking her head. No missiles, and even her crew wouldn't be able to improvise a new weapons system in the hundred-and-two seconds they had remaining.

 “Scott, what's the status of our missiles?”

 “Running true,” she replied. “I can't get into them, though. Cooper's team must have set them for autonomous operation, and unless we got a lucky shot with a message laser, we wouldn't be able to crack into the system.”

 “No message laser,” Ingram added. “Damaged in that last missile strike.”

 “So much for that idea,” she said. “Midshipman, alter course. Take us towards the enemy.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Collision course.”

 Armstrong turned to her, and replied, “Captain...”

 “Collision course on the nearest enemy battlecruiser. Alamo's going to take some hits, no matter what, but we might be able to reduce the odds a little.” Looking around the bridge, she added, “All hands, prepare to abandon ship. That includes the bridge crew.”

 “Captain,” Scott said, as Armstrong worked the controls, swinging the ship around, the enemy formation now centered on the screen. “There must be...”

 “If you can think of an alternative, Kat, I'll be only too happy to take it. Armstrong, clear the helm. I'll take it.”

 “No, ma'am,” Armstrong said. “Last time I checked, you weren't qualified to fly a starship.”

 “Midshipman…,” she began, before adding, “Very well. The rest of you, get out of here.”

 “Ninety-five seconds to collision,” Scott said, alarms ringing across the ship. Behind her, the crew slowly filed out, Arkhipov and Ingram leading the way, Kowalski loitering at the hatch. He turned, as though about to say something, then shook his head and stepped out of the room. She glanced back, a smile on her face, as she settled down into the command chair. They'd have a good chance if they could get to the escape pods quickly enough.

 “Change to target aspect!” Scott said. “Six missiles heading right for us. Forty seconds to impact.” Shaking her head, she added, “There's nothing we can do about it.”

 “Get out of here, Kat,” Harper replied. “You've done everything you can do.”

 “Like hell,” Scott said.  

 “I'm disengaging all safety overrides,” Armstrong added. “And initiating final course changes. Technically neither of you have to stay here. I don't need anyone watching over my shoulder.”

 Turning to Scott, Harper said, “Warm up the shuttle, then. We can get out of here on that at the last minute. One full burn and we should be able to escape the debris field.” Scott nodded, finally heading from the bridge, and Harper added, “If we don't get there in time, detach and get to safety.” Before her friend could protest, she said, “That's an order, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Scott replied, “If that's the way you want it. Captain.”

 Harper turned back to the viewscreen, watching as the formation visibly grew, the points of light beginning to resolve themselves into shapes. Warning alarms sounded across the bridge, collision alerts from the automatic systems, a droning whine that seemed to seep through her head. Fumbling with her controls, she found the manual override, and silence reigned at last.

 She looked around the bridge, each console still flashing data for their absent operators, automatic controls kicking in as the systems detected the absence of the crew. Only Armstrong remained at her station, frantically playing the thrusters in an attempt to at least mitigate the impact of the approaching missiles. Idly, she realized that six hits would stand an excellent chance of tearing her ship to pieces, but at that range, it wouldn't matter. Enough of the hull would get through to rip into the enemy warship, giving Pavel a chance to live through the battle.

 Glancing down at the communications controls, she tried to open a channel to Alamo, but too many systems were damaged, too much electronic interference blocking the signal. She settled down in the chair with a sigh. He knew what she would have said, if she'd had a chance. At least her crew was safely away, the last of the escape pods drifting clear. She reached down to another control, and with a smile, released the shuttle from its docking cradle, tossing it from the side of the ship. Scott would be furious, but there was nothing she could do.

 “Five seconds to impact,” Armstrong said.

 “Midshipman, it has been an absolute pleasure to serve with you,” Harper said.

 “All mine, ma'am,” she replied. “Two seconds. One. Impact.”

 The whole world seemed to shake as the six Xandari warheads found their targets, slamming into the side of the ship in a carefully designed pattern to do maximum damage. At the final microsecond, Armstrong had fired all the thrusters, spinning the ship just enough to wreck their fine targeting, but she couldn't stop the impact.

 Daedalus lurched forward, the hull plating cracking in a thousand places, the familiar whine of decompression sounding right on the bridge. Sparks flew through the air, and before she could even move, a ceiling spar crashed down from the ceiling, part of the wrecked superstructure, catching Armstrong on the back. The young officer gasped in surprise, briefly struggling before falling limp, and Harper jumped forward trying to free her.

 It took a second to register that she was still alive. Somehow, she had lived through the impact. The acceleration had stopped, and she was floating free, debris drifting around her as she pushed for Armstrong. A rattling noise pounded from the rear, and none of the telltales from the aft section were reporting. One glance at the surviving monitor told her why. Daedalus had been ripped in two, the force of the explosion neatly severing the engineering section away, hurling the two pieces onto separate trajectories.

 Hands reached at her, and she turned to see Scott attempting to drag her away, pulling her from Armstrong. Harper fought with her, struggling to stay on the bridge, the two of them bouncing around the wrecked deck, scattering debris as they went, the whine of escaping air growing louder by the second.

 “She's dead, Kris, and we've got terminal impact in thirty seconds. We've got to go.”
 “No, no,” Harper protested.

 “Come on, damn it! She's dead, but you don't have to die with her. I'm not giving your stupid message to Pavel. You can hand-deliver the cursed crystal. Now come on! We've got about thirty seconds!”

 Scott dragged Harper from the shattered bridge, tugging her down the corridor. The docking port had been lodged open with a spacesuit, the hatch unable to close, another succession of red lights warning of the dire consequences should they stay. As soon as Harper passed into the passenger cabin, Scott tugged the suit clear, and the airlock slammed shut, the shuttle's engine firing on automatic to take them away from the ship.

 “Armstrong,” Harper said, turning to the hatch.

 “She's gone,” Scott replied, dragging her to the cockpit. She slid down into the pilot's seat, pushing Harper into the other couch, and fired the thrusters to throw them away from the doomed ship, carefully guiding them clear of the debris field. “Dirty trick trying to get rid of me like that.”

 “Didn't want you to die with me,” Harper mumbled. Both pieces of Daedalus were clearly visible on the screen, the monitor flashing streams of data as it attempted to calculate their courses. Escaping atmosphere was tossing the two fragments around, and the Xandari commander was struggling to compensate, trying to evade the incoming vessel, but finally, he ran out of time.

 It was the forward section that did the worst of the damage, crashing amidships into the heart of the enemy ship, rending a gaping hole in the hull that tossed it to the side, the armor seeming to curl away as the vessel split along the seams, bodies thrown clear by the escaping atmosphere along with a cloud of debris.

 For a second, she thought the engineering section would miss, but at the last instant, an unexpected blast of oxygen dragged it into line, hurling it into the rear of the craft. The Xandari ship tumbled, end over end, out of control and diving towards one of its fellows, and shuttles started to spill out, crewmen seeking sanctuary on their fellow ships. With a blinding flash, they ran out of time, something detonating in the enemy ship, and a wave of shrapnel raced through space, catching the few escaping crewmen in a series of supplemental explosions that only added to the carnage.

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “Damn, Daedalus died well.”

 “She was a good ship,” Scott added.  “Thirty years those bastards had her. I'd say she had her payback.” Turning to Harper, she added, “Armstrong knew what she was doing, Kris. And she volunteered, hell, demanded to stay.”

 Nodding, Harper replied, “One more to add to the death count.” 

 “I think the rest of the crew got away,” Scott said.

 “I hope so,” she sighed. “Never again, Kat. I'm never doing this again.” 

 Placing her hand on Harper's shoulder, Scott replied, “You did good, Captain. You did damned good. No one else could have got us here.” Pointing at the scanner, she added, “That missiles salvo is going to hit home. Eight impacts on each of the surviving ships. And we're going to have a front-row seat.” Reaching into her pockets, she pulled out the data-crystals, passing them back to Harper. “I'm not going to need these damn things any more, either.”

 Nodding, Harper slid them into her pockets, sitting back in her chair as Scott altered their course, bringing them high over the enemy ships to keep them clear of the battle. The tangled remains of Daedalus drifted past the Xandari formation, now tangled with the remnants of the ship it had destroyed.

 Six months. For six months she'd commanded her own ship, a ship that had taken her to safety when the Xandari attacked, one that had done everything she had asked of it and more than she had any right to expect. And she'd repaid that service by deliberately slamming her into an enemy battlecruiser.

 Turning to her, as though able to read her mind, Scott said, “There wasn't any other choice, Kris. You only did what any good combat commander would have done. I'd have done exactly the same in your place.” With a smile, she added, “Except that I wouldn't have had the guts to come out here at all.”

 “Smart,” Harper muttered.

 “Come on,” Scott replied, punching a control. “First missile strike in five seconds. We don't want to miss the show.”

 “No,” Harper said, images of Armstrong's twisted corpse drifting into her mind. “The tickets were too damned expensive.”

Chapter 25

 Salazar rose from the command chair, taking an involuntary step forward as he watched Daedalus slamming into the Xandari battlecruiser, fragments scattering across space. His eyes widened as the scene of devastation unfurled before him, Foster looking across at him from the tactical station.

 “Eight escape pods got away, and a shuttle at the last minute,” she said. “I'd bet my last credit that Harper was on it.” After a second, she added, “Damn it, Pavel, get your head back in the game! We've still got two ships heading right for us!”

 He nodded, then turned to Lombardo, and asked, “Art, how's the ship?”

 “I've already found about half a dozen little surprises for us, Captain,” he smiled as he said the rank, then continued, “but we know our ship a hell of a lot better than they did.”

 “Some traps in the software as well,” Hooke added, “but I've wiped them clear of the system. As far as I can tell, we've got control.”

 Tapping a control on his chair, Salazar said, “Bridge to Ryan. Any sign of enemy activity?”

 “Just a lot of dead bodies, Pavel. Looks like they all decided to kill themselves at the end. You think we might convince those bastards on the battlecruisers to follow their example?”

 “It might take a little more than that. Let me know when you get to Engineering.”

 “Roger. Out.”

 Turning from his console, Spinelli reported, “First missile impacts on enemy ships in fifteen seconds, sir. Combat range in ninety-five.” Looking up at a readout, he added, “All birds running true, clear to the target.”

 Nodding, Salazar watched the tactical display, taking a step back to sit down on the chair. Twenty-one missiles remained, heading for the battlecruiser formation, though nine of them were moving into the inferno of the wrecked ship at its heart, the computers unable to alter their course in time to make a difference.

 He looked around the emergency bridge, still astonished to be back on Alamo. Before the last refit, this had been the main control center, and he was sitting where Captain Marshall had sat during the rediscovery of Ragnarok, the first battles with the Cabal, then later with the Xandari. A sense of history weighed down upon him. In ten years, he wondered, would some young commander be thinking of this battle, in a system half-way across the galaxy?

 Daedalus' shuttle dived clear of the wreckage just as the missiles hit. Two of them were taken out by flying debris before impact, one last gift from their dead comrade, but ten missiles still found their targets, seven of them crashing into the battlecruiser on the left, leaving a series of gaping holes running down the side of the hull. Escaping air tossed the ship to the side, the Xandari pilot struggling to bring his ship back under control, fighting a battle he couldn't win. The other fared better, three impacts at the rear, all close enough together to limit the damage to the rest of the ship.

 “Report,” he said, turning to Foster.

 “Target Alpha is crippled,” she replied. “Damage to weapons, thruster control, sensors. She's a dead bird, Captain, and I don't think she's going to contribute much to the fight. Target Beta has lost hendecaspace drive and primary life support, as well as serious damage to the rear section.” Shaking her head, she added, “We've got to assume she's fully combat-capable.”

 “Status of our weapons systems?”

 “Laser charging now, six missiles in the tubes, ready to fire.”

 Salazar nodded, then said, “Go for the laser at extreme range, then follow up with the missiles. To hell with defensive fire. We're going to finish them.” Looking at the scattering debris fields, surging ahead of the enemy ship, he added, “Maqua, take us into that cloud.”

 “Into the wreckage, sir?”

 Lombardo turned from his station, and said, “That'll play merry hell with the outer hull.”

 “Better some shrapnel damage than a missile impact, Art.”  

 “Altering course,” Maqua said, clicking his hands over the controls. “Correcting attitude.”

 Salazar watched as Target Alpha drifted away, falling back, an easy target for a later strike. Target Beta homed in on them, and he knew that the enemy commander had murder in his mind, knew that he would be seeking to mitigate the defeat any way he could.

 In the background, he could hear an oddly familiar hum, and realized it was the noise of the laser cannon charging up. One more thing he'd missed. After months in a Neander-friendly environment, everything was so bright, the air tasting different, the subtle flavors missing. Even the doors slid open, rather than dilating.

 It was good to be home. Even under these circumstances.

 “Ten seconds to contact,” Spinelli said.

 “Any signal from any station?” Salazar asked.

 “Too much jamming at the moment,” Weitzman replied. “Give it a few minutes, when we're clear of the enemy ship.” He paused, then added, “Or when we've sent the bastards to Hell.”

 “Helm, I'm going to need a firing pass in eight seconds,” Foster said, reaching up to the laser controls. “Right across the front. If we can take out some of his launch tubes, so much the better.”
 “Roger,” Maqua said. “Altering course.”

 The ship swung around, pivoting on its thrusters to line up with the enemy ship, preparing to fire. At the critical second, Foster fired, a thin beam of light lancing towards the Xandari vessel for an instant, long enough to send a line of death running down the side of the hull, melting and tearing as it went, sending clouds of atmosphere seeping out into space.

 “Burn, you bastard,” Foster said. “Burn!” She looked up at Salazar, and added, “Launching missiles, sir.”

 Alamo rocked as six missiles soared into the void, and after a second, Foster belatedly began to engage the combat fabricators, the second salvo taking shape in the launch tubes as the systems hurriedly sprung back into life. Up on the screen, four lines moved into view, the enemy firing a retaliatory salvo to intercept their missiles. Two were going to get through, and in thirty seconds, Foster would have a second laser pulse to rake them with.

 It almost felt as though the ship was coming back to life, seeking revenge on the enemies who had enslaved her, attempted to bend her to their will. She danced on her thrusters, homing on her target with a strange eagerness, Maqua playing the controls with a smile on his face as they closed on the enemy.

 “Wow,” Spinelli said. “Explosion on Target Alpha. I think they tried to launch a missile.” Shaking his head, he added, “They've ripped the front of their ship to pieces. I don't think we're going to have to worry about them, skipper.”

 “We should have more enemies like that, Spaceman.”

 “Maqua, now!” Foster yelled, and Alamo swung into position as she took her second shot, this time catching the enemy vessel in the rear, sending it into a slow spin. The trajectory plot grew chaotic as the ship struggled to calculate the course of the enemy, engines firing in spasmodic pulses in a vain attempt to buy time. A pair of missiles slammed into the ship, brief explosions tearing new holes in the hull, compartments exposed to space as their occupants were blown out into the vacuum, ragdolls tossed clear of the enemy vessel.

 “Second salvo, sir?” Foster said.

 “Finish it, Val,” he said. “Bring that bastard down.”

 There was no response to the second wave of missiles diving towards the enemy spacecraft, and Salazar watched as the seconds trickled away, his warheads moving for their targets, carefully chosen to cause maximum damage. The Xandari pilot struggled to the end, firing thrusters in a desperate attempt to gain distance, to protect his ship, but Foster guided her missiles into position with the precision of a master, and with a white flash, the battlecruiser exploded, a sphere of debris cascading through space. Almost on cue, Target Alpha detonated, her captain choosing suicide rather than being taken alive.

 “The strong shall survive,” Maqua said. “The weak shall perish.”

 Weitzman looked across at his board, and said, “Communications are clearing, sir.”

 “Put me on, all channels,” Salazar replied.

 After a second, the communications technician, back at his familiar controls, said, “You're on, sir. Everyone in the system can hear you.”

 “This is Acting Captain Pavel Salazar, commanding the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. The Xandari forces in orbit have been annihilated. Copernicus is free once more. All remaining forces are ordered to stand down and surrender at once, or face the consequences.” With a deep sigh, he said, “The war's over, everyone. We won.”

 That triggered a burst of cheers around the bridge, a dozen crewmen loudly demonstrating their relief. Salazar sat back in the command chair, exhausted, as Foster jumped from her station, clapping him on the back, Maqua setting the controls for a stable orbit with a dazed smile.

 “Great work, everyone. Great work.”

 Weitzman, shouting over the clamor, said, “Signal from Colonels Kilquan and Skeuros, sir. They both send their complements on an excellent kill.”

 “Tell them both that we couldn't have done it without them, and that I expect to see them at the party.” He looked up at the sensors, shaking his head, and said, “Val, if I can drag you away for a moment, we'd better see what condition the SAR shuttle is in. We've got a lot of escape pods out there, and some of them are likely Xandari.”

 “Sir,” Spinelli said, “Daedalus shuttle on final approach. They should be coming into the hangar deck in a minute.”

 “Foster,” Salazar replied, already racing to the door, “take the conn.”

 “With pleasure, sir,” she said, as he sprinted down the corridor, leaping over the body of a Xandari, almost crashing into the elevator doors as they slid open. He tapped the control for the hangar deck, trying to dampen his hopes, knowing that any survivor from the wrecked ship would naturally make for Alamo as its first port of call.

 He tugged down his uniform jacket, cursing as the elevator stalled for a second, anxiously tapping the control panel as it sped towards his destination. He'd spent the last six months on small ships, one after another, no more than fifty meters long. Alamo was half a mile long, all the way down the long laser cannon at its heart, and the elevator seemed to be taking forever to traverse it.

 Finally, the doors slid open, and he raced through onto the open deck, a shuttle rising through the elevator airlock, the hull battered from the impact of shrapnel, the communications antenna a tangled ruin, shedding pieces of scrap metal onto the floor as the craft settled into position.

 Without quite realizing it, he found himself running across the bay, the shuttle hatch popping open. Scott stepped out first, looking around the deck in a daze, and he felt his heart sink as his eyes widened, before Harper followed, streaks on her face, her uniform battered and burned. He raced for her, throwing his arms around her, unable to speak for a long moment as Scott watched on, an amused smile on her face.

 He looked down at her, the two of them locking eyes, each of them unable to speak. There didn't seem to be any need for words. They'd cheated death, escaped the fate that was waiting for them. Reaching up with his hand, he brushed some hair from her face, then reached down to kiss her, not caring that they had an audience as more of the crew walked onto the deck.

 Over the loudspeaker, a voice barked, “Signal from the surface. President Wulf has issued a formal surrender of all Copernican forces, as of 0623 local time.” A second chorus of cheers rose in the background, and the voice added, “Captain Orlova's shuttle will be on board in fifteen minutes.”

 With a deep breath, Salazar looked up, red-faced as he saw the gathering crowd, and added, “What are you waiting for? The Captain's coming back. Let's get this bay ready to receive. Scott, take SAR Two and start picking up the escape pods.”

 “Sure,” Scott replied, moving to the shuttle.

 “What now?” Harper asked.

 “Now we go for that walk on the beach. The rest of this can wait a while. There's no hurry. Not any more.”

Chapter 26

 “Cease fire!” the voice yelled, out beyond the barricade. One last burst of machine gun fire raced through the air, some soldier a little to eager on the trigger, and the sounds of battle faded away, leaving only the cries of the dead or the dying echoing across the plain. Cooper staggered out of the compound, Bradley holding him by the good arm, the effects of the stimulants beginning to wear off.

 “Sir,” Corporal Walpis said. “We've just had a signal from Council House. The President's dead, but her last act was to order a cessation of hostilities.”

 Cantrell jogged over, and added, “Signal from Alamo. The enemy fleet has been destroyed.”

 A wave of cheering broke the silence, rifles fired into the air as the army celebrated the victory. Out beyond the walls, Cooper saw the dejected look on the faces of the defeated army, their war ended on the threshold of success. One more attack would have taken the walls, reduced them to hand-to-hand combat, a battle they could never have won.

 The wounded lay by the far wall. Donegan and the few local medics moved from man to man, fighting desperately to save the lives regardless of the uniform they were wearing. Cooper saw one of the enemy soldiers leaning over McBride, medical kit in hand, trying to stop the flow of blood from a leg wound.  

 Beyond, outside, bodies were scattered across the battlefield, teams of men breaking away from the celebration to start the long clean-up, checking for any survivors hiding in the scattered corpses. The air stank of cordite and blood, a soft weeping in the background belying the still-triumphant cheering of the local soldiers. They'd won their war, and the price wouldn't begin to make itself felt until later, when the exuberance of battle and glory faded away.

 “Major Vasiliev, sir,” Walpis said, as one of the Copernicans stepped forward, his arm in a hastily improvised sling. “The surviving commander of the enemy forces.”

 “We're not enemies,” Vasiliev said. “Not any more. It's Lieutenant Cooper, isn't it.”
 “It is,” Cooper said, trying to ignore the pain creeping up his side once again.

 “Lieutenant, most of my men were draftees. They didn't have any choice but to fight. I made my decision and I'll stand by that, but they shouldn't pay the price for our mistakes.” Looking out at the battlefield, he added, “More than half of them are dead anyway.” 

 Nodding, Cooper turned to Cantrell, and said, “See that they're checked. If any of them are on our lists for war crimes, detain them. Otherwise, take their uniforms and get them out of here.”

 “Wait a minute,” Sergeant Moretti said. “These people fought for the Xandari against their own people...”

 “And knew that their families would pay the price if they didn't,” Vasiliev said. “My officers and I will turn ourselves over to local authorities for trial.” With a half-smile, he added, “We thought we were doing the right thing, but we were wrong, and we'll pay the price for that.”

 “What about the Xandari?” Bradley asked.

 “Most of them died in the battle, and the last survivors headed out into the fields. Maybe they're trying to make it to a shuttle. Does it matter? They don't have anywhere to run.”

 “That's what worries me,” she replied. “Moretti, set up a full defensive perimeter.”

 “I'm not sure we've got the manpower,” the battered farmer replied. He looked down at a body by his side, then said, “Oh, Christ, that's Mackenzie. My son was going to marry his daughter next month.” He wiped his hand across his eyes, and said, “How many more?”

 “Mourn them later,” Cantrell said. “The living need you more than the dead right now. Get that perimeter established.”

 “Major,” Bradley asked, “do you have any transport? We could do with getting our wounded to hospital as fast as we can. The city's only a few miles away.”

 “If the reports I've heard are true, then the hospitals will all be overwhelmed with casualties of their own, but I'll see what I can do.” He reached down to his belt, pulled out his pistol and offered it to Cooper, butt first. “I'm willing to give my parole until we've looked after the wounded, if you're willing to take it.”

 Moretti's face reddened, and he said, “You can't seriously...”

 “Thank you, Major,” Cooper said. “I accept. Get that transport ready, as fast as you can.”

 “Will do,” he replied, turning to the rear, a pair of his men following, discarding their weapons to the mud as they walked. Moretti opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from Bradley silenced him, and he moved over to the wall, shaking his head, barking orders at the few troopers still able to take them.

 Cooper looked around the battlefield, feeling sick inside. This was his doing. No matter whether or not it had been necessary, no matter what the justification might have been. More than a hundred bodies lay strewn across the landscape, dozens of injured men gathering in the compound, and that had been the result of his actions. 

 “No more,” he said. “I'm done.”

 “There was nothing else you could have done,” his wife said, still clutching to his side. “We had to take this base, and we had to hold it. You can't blame yourself.”

 “Who else could I blame,” he said. He dug down into his pocket, and found Cantrell's data-crystal. All of a sudden, it seemed to symbolize the death and destruction around him. He held it in his hands, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it into the mud with his heel. Suddenly, it was as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders, and he looked at Bradley with a smile on his face.

 “You ought to be going to hospital yourself,” she said. “That arm isn't going to get any better.” Turning to the compound, she added, “I've got Saltzman trying to get the field clear. We might be able to get a shuttle down from Alamo. The medical facilities up there are a lot better than anything we'll find on the planet.” She looked at him, then said, “I want nothing but the best for you, darling.” He looked into their eyes, and realized that they had both made their decision, all the doubts dismissed from their minds.

 “Hey,” Cantrell said, racing over to them. “We're getting signals from all over. The President's dead. Suicide. Right out of her office window. Our forces have control of all key installations in the city.” She looked at the two of them, then added, “Sorry.”

 “Don't worry about it,” Cooper said, still looking at his wife. “Good news I can take.”

 “Vasiliev's got two trucks ready to move, and I've ordered them loaded with the worst of the wounded.” She paused, then added, “No reason why that shouldn't include the two of you. I can handle things here. Why don't the two of you get to the hospital.”

 Before his wife could respond, Cooper said, “Barbara, they're going to need you up on Alamo. I see dozens of shuttle flights in the future, and you're still the best pilot we've got.”

 “Flatterer,” she said. “Forgive me for thinking that all of them can...”

 “Duty first, love,” he said. “And not for much longer.”

 Cantrell nodded, and replied, “I guess you've made your decision, then.”

 “It was a nice try, though. I was tempted.” Looking around the field, he said, “Though I can give you about a hundred reasons why I'm finished.”

 With a soft smile, she said, “You can't blame me for trying, though. If there's anything I can do to help you out, you only need to ask. Intelligence doesn't just involve infiltration operations, you know. Plenty of nice, lucrative government contracts out there, and if anyone deserves a bit of assistance, you do.”

 Bradley nodded, but her response was drowned out by an explosion at the edge of the field, the body of one of the guards tossed to the side as the dreadful whine of a plasma rifle sounded. Cooper fumbled for his pistol as he saw a shape racing towards him, a Xandari in battle armor with weapon raised high, pointed at his chest. Before he could fire, he felt something pushing at him, a blow striking hard enough to send he and his wife crashing to the mud as the plasma ball raced overhead. A second later, a machine gun blast raked the Xandari, the armor-piercing bullets smashing the infiltrator into the ground, weapon dropping to the side.

 “Good God,” Bradley said, and Cooper turned to see a burned body by his side, the smell of roasting flesh filling the air. It was Cantrell, looking up at Cooper with terror in her eyes. Donegan raced over, medical kit open in his hands, fumbling for a sedative, as Cooper leaned over her.

 “We'll get someone down from Alamo,” he said. “Just hang on.”

 “No,” she replied, gasping for breath. “Not stupid. Caught in the fringe. Didn't have a chance. You?”

 “I'm fine,” he said. “And Barbara, too.”

 “Good,” she said, while Donegan dropped to her side, horror in his eyes as he looked over her wounds. The medic looked up at Cooper, shaking his head.

 “Lisa,” Cooper began.

 “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No regrets. Should have...” she gasped, her body wracked with pain, and added, “Had a job. Yours now. My cabin.”

 “What's there?” Bradley asked.

 A grim smile crossed her face, and she said, “Got to end them. Forever. Alamo can.” Nodding, she added, “K-Bomb.”

 Cooper looked at Bradley, then back at Cantrell, and said, “We'll do it. You have my word.”

 “Aye,” she replied, struggling to reach up with her hand. Cooper gently took it, holding her as she took her last breath, her head relaxing into the ground. He reached across, closing her eyes with his palm, tears in his eyes.

 “Moretti,” he barked. “Double the perimeter, and if anyone else gets through I'll have your damned hide!”

 “Sir...” 

 “Just do it!” Looking up at Bradley, he said, “She threw herself into us. To save our lives. Why?”

 “Can't you guess?” she replied, shaking her head. “I guess maybe you can't, at that. Why do you think she was so desperate to recruit you, to drag you off into Intelligence with her?” With a thin smile, she added, “My guess is that's the same reason she ended up coming on this mission in the first place.”

 “She never said.” He looked down at her body, so small on the ground, and added, “Not a word.”

 “And I don't think she ever would. She wasn't the type.” Donegan pulled a sheet over Cantrell's body, and sighed.

 “There wasn't a chance, sir,” the medic said. “Even if she'd been hit in the entrance to Sickbay. Her injuries were just too serious.” Pushing himself to his feet, he added, “There's a shuttle coming down from Alamo in ten minutes. I want the two of you on it.” Gesturing at their foreheads, he added, “You've both got the worst case of sunburn I've seen in a long time, and you'll start to feel it in a minute.” 

 “Specialist...”

 “Sir, you've done your job. Now I've got to do mine.” Before Cooper could reply, the medic walked away, holding his medical kit in his hands, shaking his head.

 “Alamo,” Bradley said. “It doesn't seem real. Like something out of a storybook.” Turning to Cooper, she asked, “The K-Bomb? I've never heard of it.”

 “Neither have I,” Cooper replied, “but as soon as Doctor Duquesne's finished with us, we're going to find out.” Looking down at the corpse again, he said, “We owe her that much. And more besides.”

 “One more mission for the road?” Bradley asked.

 Nodding, he said, “One more, and we can rest. We've earned it.” With a deep sigh, he walked towards the landing strip, his wife by his side. Up in the sky, a light was falling, a ship entering the atmosphere, ready to take them home.

Chapter 27

 “Attention, attention,” Foster said, the gathered crew moving as one as the shuttle doors opened. “Commanding officer arriving.”

 Orlova, still in the battered prison jumpsuit, walked out onto her ship, Nelyubov right behind her, stepping over to the beaming Salazar in three quick strides. She looked across the hangar bay, filled with Alamo crew, Neander, Koltoc, even a scattering of Copernicans, and snapped a salute.

 “Permission to come on board, sir.”

 “Granted with pleasure, Captain,” Salazar said. “She's all yours.”

 Clapping him on the back, she replied, “You got her back, Pavel.” Turning to Harper, she said, “I always had faith in you, but you've repaid that trust a thousand-fold. You never gave up.”

 “A man is only finished when he quits,” Kowalski volunteered with a smile.

 “Quite so,” she said. “Ship status, Lieutenant?” 

 “We've only just finished our inspection, Captain, but the Xandari did a surprisingly good repair job. I'm sure Mr. Quinn will want to look everything over for himself, but I don't see any reason why we can't leave the system in a couple of days.”

 Nelyubov looked up from his datapad, and added, “Signal from Captain Kalb. His team boarded the orbiting spaceport and secured it with no casualties. Apparently the crew were only too eager to surrender when the alternative became apparent. As best as we can work out, that means the last of the Xandari in this system are dead.”

 Orlova paused, then asked, “Any word on the casualties?”

 With a deep breath, Nelyubov said, “We've lost twenty-one people, Captain, all told. Another thirty-two Koltoc and seventy Neander.” Shaking his head, he added, “It'll probably be a while before I can give a good estimate of the casualty counts among the Copernicans.”

 “I see,” she said. “Pavel, take the bridge. Start to coordinate repairs to the ship, and arrange for any remaining escape pods to be picked up. We're expecting some of the wounded to be transferred up here in the next few minutes, so we'll have to have Sickbay operational.”

 “Doctor Duquesne is already down there,” he said. “Ready to accept casualties.”

 “I should have known,” she replied. Looking at the assembled crew, she raised her voice, and said, “This victory belongs to all of you. They'll be talking about this battle for years, for decades, so I hope you remember enough to bore your grandchildren to death with it.” A ripple of laughter simmered across the crowd, and she added, “I am proud, and humbled, to serve with each and every one of you, never more than at this moment. Thank you all.”

 Someone near the rear started to applaud, and soon the whole crowd was roaring, the decks thundering from the noise as they celebrated their victory. Orlova forced a smile, and looked at Harper and Salazar, their happy faces as artificial as hers. The three of them knew what this victory had truly cost, knew who had paid the price for the triumph they were celebrating today, as no one else here could.

 “Company,” Nelyubov said, struggling to make himself heard, “Dismissed!”

 The crew began to disperse to their stations, the exultation at their victory tempered with the knowledge that putting the ship back into order was going to take days. Orlova walked towards the elevator, looking at a pile of Xandari bodies stacked by the wall, waiting to be buried in space. The Copernican casualties were already on their way down to their families, to rest on the soil of their own world.

 She closed her eyes as the elevator worked, the familiar hum of the ship a pleasant relief. Nelyubov looked at her, shaking his head, then looked down at his datapad, skimming through the reports streaming up from the surface and the rest of the fleet. Everything seemed so normal, as though she had only been away from the ship for a few hours, maybe a day, not three months and more.

 Back in that cell, she'd given up hope of ever seeing the ship again. Beating the Xandari was another matter, but she hadn't seen any way of doing that without destroying her ship. Somehow, Salazar had found another way, he and Harper.

 “Colonel Kilquan has assumed command of the defense perimeter,” Nelyubov said, reading from his report. “Pavel already sent replacement missiles out to the rest of the ships, just in case someone was hiding out in the deep system. We should consider the possibility that reinforcements might arrive.”

 Nodding, she replied, “We'd better set up a new orbital defense network, and this time I think we'd better make sure to build in a back door so that no one can suborn it.” Shaking her head, she added, “The new government is going to have to earn our trust, though that might get easier depending on who the next President is.”

 “Not Dietrich?” he asked.

 “Flannery would be my guess, assuming someone manages to talk him into it. Copernicus needs a leader who will bring them back together, not tear them apart in recrimination. That's why I purged the government database.” Shaking her head, she added, “Cooper did something similar, I hear, out at the battleground.”

 “Did you see the casualty reports from that action,” he replied. “I thought we'd had it bad.”

 With a sigh, she said, “Poor Cantrell. Dead after the ceasefire.” Looking across at Nelyubov, she added, “You'll have to ride Tactical for a while.”

 “Not a problem. Though I'm rather hoping for a nice, quiet ride home.” The door opened, and they stepped onto the bridge. Orlova paused at the door, looked across at Nelyubov, then stepped into the room, the duty crew turning as she entered. Maqua, now wearing his Sub-Lieutenant's insignia, saluted from the holotable.

 “Captain on the deck,” he said.

 She returned the salute, and replied, “We don't normally do that.”

 “This time, I thought you might enjoy it,” he said. “All systems nominal, Captain.”

 “Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant. Carry on.”

 With a smile, the Neander turned back to his station, leaning over the technician working the electronic warfare suite, piecing over the critical code to check for Xandari tempering. Orlova looked at him for a moment before heading for her office, Nelyubov still following as the doors slid open.

 Inside, everything was chaos, bloodstains on the carpet where the last commander of this ship had died, her possessions piled into a broken heap in the corner. She pulled her chair from the floor, pushing it behind her desk, then sat down, turning to look at the starfield, Nelyubov sitting opposite.

 “File the paperwork to confirm Maqua's commission, will you?” she asked.

 “Certainly,” Nelyubov replied. “I'll sort it all out when we get under way. We're going to have a mountain of admin to climb on the ride home. Between them, Salazar and Harper managed fifteen brevet promotions, including three commissions. Checking them over...”

 “All of them are formally confirmed, unless the people involved turn them down. They were heroes, Frank, and giving them more ornate insignia is the least I could do. We could give out a couple of dozen Red Shields without even thinking about it.” Shaking her head, she added, “None of them ever gave up. I figured they'd run for home, try and bring forward reinforcements, but they came back instead. They came back for us.”

 “Harper made an attempt, apparently, but she didn't get more than one jump home. We're going to have to watch out for pickets, but I don't think we'll have too much trouble getting past them.” With a smile, he said, “I've already got Powell...”

 “He turned up?”

 “Apparently he's spent the last three months lecturing the Xandari on the new theory of the

quattuordecim drive. Traveling through fourteenth-dimensional space.”

 Frowning, she replied, “Space doesn't have that many dimensions.”

 “I know that, and you know that, but a lot of top scientists back on the Xandari homeworld don't. Anyway, he's coming up in a few minutes, and I've told him to plot a course for home via Testament Station. We can give the crew a little leave on the way home, and it wouldn't do any harm to show the flag.”

 “Home,” she said. “It doesn't seem real, does it. Six jumps, maybe two months, and we're back at Thule.”

 “I think technically we've completed the longest tour in Confederation history.” He beamed, and said, “We've broken them, Maggie. Even the most pessimistic projections don't give them more than two more battlecruisers, and they'll be scattered all over their territory. It might not have gone as we'd expected...”

 “That's a bit of an understatement,” she interrupted.

 “But we did everything we set out to do. Copernicus is taken, and we'll have a new defense network in position before we leave. The Neander and Koltoc fleets are going to wait here until reinforcements arrive, and between them the Xandari won't have a chance of getting through, even if they had any ships to do it with.”

 “And then we go home,” Orlova said, shaking her head, “and someone follows your chain of logic to its ultimate conclusion. They're not a threat any more, so no need to send in the big space fleet.”

 “Commodore Marshall won't think that way.”

 “Assuming he makes the final decision,” she replied, closing her eyes, leaning back in her chair. There was a knock on the door, and she jerked up, her reverie broken.

 “Who is it?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Cooper.” The door opened, and he stepped in, arm in a hard cast, a stick in the other hand, Bradley standing behind him. “Can I see you, Captain? In private?”

 “Of course,” she said, “Of course. I haven't had a chance to thank you...”

 “No need,” he replied. “There are about a hundred people down on the surface who've earned your thanks a lot more than I have, but you'd have to hold a seance to pass it on.” With a deep breath, he added, “Including Lieutenant Cantrell.”

 “We're both sorry about her death,” Nelyubov replied. “Especially given the circumstances.”

 “She left a legacy,” Cooper replied. “And one that could give us a chance of bringing this war to an end. For good. Now.” Orlova glanced at Nelyubov, and he added, “The Xandari are broken. We'll never have a better chance. That was what she thought, and she's right. If we go back to the Confederation, they'll spend long enough arguing to give the Xandari a chance to rearm. We won this fight at a terrible cost, Captain, and I don't know if we could do it again.” Looking down at the deck, he added, “I don't think I could, anyway.”

 “I agree with you,” she replied, “but we don't really have a choice. One ship can't finish them off by itself, and we've got to bring forward the reinforcements. Don't worry. I'm sure Commodore Marshall...”

 Shaking her head, Bradley added, “Trust me, Captain, no one wants to go home and leave all this behind more than I do, but if we don't finish the job, they'll be back, and you know it. We're talking about a race that worships the concept of Total War. Did you see those intelligence projections? They could have three more battlecruisers in six months, a force that would be a tough nut to crack, especially holding a defensive position. We've just had proof of how difficult that is.”

 “Granted,” Nelyubov said.

 “Lisa had two pieces of information. The first is the location of the Xandari homeworld...”

 “How the hell?” Orlova asked.

 “Apparently she deduced it from evidence she pieced together during the occupation. The report's in your queue anyway, Captain, so you'll be seeing it for yourself in a few moments.” He grunted, and asked, “Can I sit down?”

 “Sorry,” Nelyubov said, vacating his seat and gesturing for Cooper to take it. “I should have...”

 “It's fine, sir,” Cooper said, easing into place. “Have either of you heard of the K-Bomb?”

 “Never,” Nelyubov said, but Orlova's face paled.

 “Something from the War. I heard rumors about it, but nothing concrete.”

 “It's an orbital denial weapon, a big one. Bigger than anything ever detonated before.”

 “Under the terms of the Treaty of Vesta, weapons like that are outlawed,” Nelyubov said.

 “I don't think the Xandari would abide by that treaty even if they knew of it,” Orlova replied. “Cooper, what exactly are you proposing.”

 Looking her in the eyes, he said, “You asked me what one ship can do, and Cantrell has answered your question. She had the schematics for the K-Bomb in her personal datafile...”

 “What can it do, again?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Render orbital space from the fringes of the atmosphere to stationary orbit impassible for more than a century,” Cooper said. He shook his head, and added, “You can only imagine what such a weapon would do to a spacefaring civilization. For our purposes, it gives us a way of fighting back against the Xandari. A weapon they can't counter.”

 “Vice-Admiral Remek signed off on this plan,” Bradley said. “We've got official approval. And Alamo can get there and back with a single fuel load.”

 “Do you have the slightest idea what you are asking?” Nelyubov half-shouted. “This ship was in enemy hands yesterday, and we don't know what sort of condition she's in. The crew's been through hell, and...”

 “And if we don't do it,” Cooper said, “We'll have to go through it all over again. A lot of people have died here, sir, and I don't want their sacrifice to be thrown away because we're not willing to finish what we've started.” He turned to Orlova, and added, “I know what I am asking. Trust me, I know. But I also know how many times war has become inevitable because someone decided not to finish off an enemy.”

 Orlova stood, turning back to the starfield, looking out at the display. Somewhere in the distance was Sol, and Mars orbiting it, the siren song of home calling her back across the light-years. She was tired, deep down to the bottom of her soul, and she longed to get away, to return to the safety of the Confederation, to hand these problems over to someone else.

 And yet, somehow, she knew that Cooper was right. The Xandari might have been beaten here, but they would never rest until either they had fulfilled their mad dreams of conquest, or been defeated forever. Only if she could accomplish that would this mission truly be over. She looked at Nelyubov, sorrow in his face, then nodded, turning back to the others.

 “Are you sure about all of this, Lieutenant?”

 “I've gone over the files twice, ma'am. If she'd lived, she would be standing here right now outlining the same mission plan. I know the crew will volunteer to a man. They know what's at stake.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Prepare a full briefing for a senior officer's meeting in an hour. Then talk to Mr. Quinn about the construction of the bomb. I don't want to get half-way there and find out we're missing something essential.”

 “We're going?” Nelyubov asked. “We're really going to do this?”

 “For those who died, if nothing else,” she said. “We're going to end this. Once and for all. We're going to stop them.” With a smile on her face, she added, “Then we can go home.”

TO BE CONCLUDED...

Thank you for reading 'Operation Damocles'. 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

The saga continues in Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit, available in November 2016...