Coalition Defense Force: First to Fight
Date: 2021-07-05 04:00:00+00:00
Description: Almost 1,300 pages of Military Science Fiction action! Courage. Commitment. Faith. The brave men and women of the Coalition Defense Force are the only line of defense against a merciless enemy when peace in the Sagittarius Arm is destroyed by a vicious sneak attack. Experience three unique perspectives in an ongoing galactic fight for survival in this first-in-series boxed set. Reservist Fighter Pilot Lieutenant Justin Spencer never expected a live-action battle during his annual two-week tour with the CDF. But when the communist League of Sol arrives on the scene with overwhelming force, illu

Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set

First to Fight

Daniel Gibbs

Gary T. Stephens

Contents

Battlegroup Z - Book 1 - Weapons Free

CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints

SF-86 Sabre Blueprints

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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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

Epilogue

Battlegroup Z - Book Two - Hostile Spike: Sneak Peak

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Acknowledgments and Afterword

Echoes of War - Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

CSV Yitzhak Rabin Blueprints

CSV Lion of Judah Blueprints

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Echoes of War - Book Two - Strong and Courageous: Sneak Peak

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Acknowledgments

Breach of Faith - Book 1 - Breach of Peace

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Breach of Faith - Book 2 - Breach of Faith: Sneak Peak

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Acknowledgments

Battlegroup Z - Book 1 - Weapons Free

Weapons Free by Daniel Gibbs

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibbs website at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact info@eotp.net.

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FREE BOOK: Read the story of Levi Cohen and his heroic fight at the first battle of Canaan in Echoes of War: Stand Firm.

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Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

1

System 36XNZ—Asteroid Belt

Terran Coalition Border Zone

27 September 2433

Four swept-wing space superiority fighters flew through the void, maneuvering around asteroids and ring material.

First Lieutenant Justin Spencer piloted the lead craft, a Terran Coalition SF-76 Sabre, around the latest hazard to crop up in his path and readjusted back to the flight plan.

The belt was unusually dense, composed of not only standard hunks of space rocks but also material from the rings of a gas giant. The science report Justin hadn’t bothered to read had probably laid out the how and whys, but all he cared about was the challenge of flying through the muck.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” he said into his commlink.

“It would be more beautiful if we had something to shoot,” Second Lieutenant Elisabeth Mateus replied. She hailed from Brasilia, one of the member worlds of the Terran Coalition. The planet was populated primarily by descendants from a Brazilian colony ship that had fled Earth during the Exodus of 2072. “Watching rocks go by for hours on end is boring.”

“But required to keep up our flight certifications.” Justin glanced at the LIDAR readout on his Sabre. It still showed no contacts, aside from the four of them. He stretched his neck. At almost two meters tall, he was at the maximum height to fly fast movers. “Another hour of dodging rocks, and we can head back to the barn.”

They were only out there to ensure their reserve fighter squadron had enough flight hours to keep its wings during the upcoming flight evaluations.

“Alpha Three to Alpha One. I’m showing something anomalous on my forward LIDAR threat tracker,” Second Lieutenant Dvora Feldstein said. “Do any of you see it?”

Justin quickly pulled up a sensor overlay for his HUD. It showed nothing out of the ordinary. “Negative, Alpha Three. Pass your sensor data.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha One.”

A moment later, Justin’s HUD came alive with the new data. A moving contact flickered on the screen. Looks like something’s there. Very faint. Probably space debris but worth putting ourselves through the paces to track. This is training, after all. “Possible bogeys at our ten o’clock, twenty degrees declination. Break to heading three-two-zero.”

The four Sabres streaked toward the new direction, engines coming alive with bright-blue cones of energy. The fast turn’s twelve Gs would have pummeled the pilots if not for strong inertial dampening.

“Tracks increasing in sensor resolution,” Mateus said. “I count four separate bogeys.”

“Confirmed, Alpha Four,” Justin replied. He toggled the comms channel to the primary fleet frequency. “Zvika Greengold Command, this is Alpha One. Do we have any friendly birds on our patrol route?”

After a pause, First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh’s voice carried over the commlink. “Negative, Alpha One. No other contacts on our scopes. You should be clear.”

“Understood. We’re going to run it down.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha flight. Zvika Greengold out.”

As the group of Sabres accelerated toward the contacts, Justin let out a breath. “Looks like our bogeys are small-craft sized. Definitely not cargo vessels.”

“Concur, sir,” Feldstein said. “Who the heck is out here? It’s an abandoned system used as a training ground for the fleet.”

“Well,” came the rich baritone of Second Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye, “don’t forget about the automated helium-3 mining facility here.”

“This is too weird,” Justin muttered. He toggled to the guard frequency, the standard emergency band. “Attention, unidentified spacecraft in vicinity of 36XNZ asteroid belt—this is Lieutenant Spencer, Coalition Defense Force. Squawk IFF and identify yourselves immediately.”

Static was the only reply. A few seconds later, the bogeys suddenly split into two groups and headed directly toward Alpha flight. Justin gripped his flight stick as adrenaline coursed through his veins. What are the odds of combat on my last space patrol, at the end of my two-week reserve tour? Especially when we’ve been at peace for thirty-five years?

“Alpha One, this is Alpha Two. I’m being spiked by a bogey. Request permission to arm weapons and lock the target.” Feldstein’s pitch rose with excitement.

“Negative, Alpha Two. We remain weapons hold. Wait one.” Justin clicked his comms channel back to the fleet. “Zvika Greengold, this is Alpha One. Bogeys have spiked my wingmen. Request weapons-free status.” What the hell is going on here?

“This is Zvika Greengold actual. Say again, Alpha One?”

Justin was surprised to hear Colonel Banu Tehrani. She was the commanding officer of their carrier.

“We’re being spiked by LIDAR, Colonel.”

“Negative on weapons-free status, Lieutenant. Maintain weapons hold. Attempt identification of the bogies and do not fire unless they take offensive action.”

“Understood, Colonel.” Justin clicked the comms channel back. Dammit. Do we really have to wait for them to open up first? He detested the idea of being held back by rules of engagement that didn’t allow them to fire until the enemy took the first shot. “Command thinks it’s nothing. Maintain speed and activate electronic countermeasures.”

“ECM online. They’re maintaining lock,” Feldstein said.

A missile-lock-on alert from Justin’s onboard-threat-assessment computer diverted his attention back to the battlespace. The bogeys heading their way had spiked the entire flight.

Ten seconds to engagement range—at least for our weapons. He bit his lip. This is wrong. His entire body seemed to rebel, and even though he’d never once fired a shot in anger, he knew the incoming was hostile, which made his next order simple. Weapons hold allows us to return fire. Nothing wrong with ensuring we can. “Alpha flight, arm missiles and get a hard lock. Designate all contacts as bandits.”

Sounding alarmed, Feldstein asked, “Sir, are you sure? We’ve got direct—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Justin snapped. He selected the closest bandit and triggered the LIDAR autolock. Seconds later, the missile tone sounded in his cockpit. He flipped the comms channel back to guard. “Inbound craft, this is your final warning. Squawk IFF and break lock immediately, or we’ll fire.”

What felt like an eternity passed. For a moment, he thought the bandits might be an elaborate test by their CAG—the Commander, Air Group—Major Gabriel Whatley.

That hope shattered in an instant, when a missile blasted from the nearest incoming craft.

Time seemed to stop as his brain leaped into overdrive. “Alpha flight, you are cleared to engage bandits bearing zero-zero-five. Weapons free. I say again, weapons free.” Justin squeezed the button on the flight stick that triggered the launch of an LT-47F Vulture active LIDAR-tracked warhead. Military craft stuck to the tried and true: buttons and levers requiring affirmative touch to move, especially when firing weapons. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called, using the code to notify his wingmen of the type of weapon fired.

Each of the four friendly fighters loosed a missile, and so did the enemy contacts. The weapons crossed paths as electronic countermeasure systems on both sides went to work. Many of the warheads were spoofed by decoys or ran into ring material, exploding prematurely. A few of the Vultures that missed their targets looped around, attempting to reacquire.

The bandits split into two elements of two fighters each and sent another wave of warheads into the fray.

“Alpha Two, break left. You’ve got two missiles inbound,” Justin called as he pressed the missile launch button to fire another Vulture. “Alpha One, fox three.”

“Alpha Three, fox three,” Adeoye added. A moment passed. “Alpha Three, splash one. Splash one bandit!”

Justin checked his HUD and confirmed that they faced one fewer enemy. Who are these guys?

He considered the flight characteristics of their opponents. The delta-V—shorthand for changing velocity—displayed by the opposing force wasn’t as robust as the Sabres’, but it was higher than any civilian craft he’d ever seen. Whoever they are, that’s military-level tech. Pirates simply didn’t have access to the latest and greatest equipment.

The thought passed as his Vulture struck home, and the targeted fighter disappeared from his HUD. The two remaining contacts turned directly toward Alpha Two and accelerated.

“Alpha Two, watch out. They’re on your twelve.”

“Roger,” Feldstein replied. “I think they want to dogfight, sir.”

Standard CDF fighter engagement doctrine was never to engage the enemy in a close-in, tail-chasing dogfight but to stay solely in beyond-visual-range combat. At the rate of closure, Justin decided to allow the combat to develop, since they appeared to have a turning and acceleration edge over the bandits. Trying to lose an enemy in the muck they were flying through just to allow reengagement with missiles seemed foolhardy to him. I guess we’ll see how good these Sabres really are.

Justin kicked up the afterburners on his craft, adjusting his heading slightly. On his HUD, the computer displayed a targeting reticle that glowed green as his fighter’s forward neutron cannons ranged. They were smaller cousins of the CDF’s primary anti-ship energy weapon and packed a serious punch against small craft. He squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, and bright beams of blue stabbed out, forming blue bolts as they raced into the darkness of the void. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.”

While some races—like the Kellions, a nation of bipeds farther down the galactic arm than the Terrans—built small craft as armored balls with a pilot in the center, with imaging systems to provide full vision, the CDF didn’t. Human pilots had long insisted on being able to see the outside world, even with the risks it entailed. The cockpit of the Sabre had a bubble of transparent alloy that allowed a three-hundred-sixty-degree field of view.

Justin blinked as a blur of a black triangle with a red emblem raced by his canopy. His HUD froze the image, showing a stylized logo with a raised fist. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Scans of the enemy craft showed a weakening in its deflector shields, but it didn’t appear as if his shots had caused damage.

As Justin whipped his Sabre around, the missile-lock alarm sounded, cutting through his mental clutter. His HUD revealed that it was a heat seeker designed to home in on his engine. He deployed flares, and they streaked away. The enemy missile exploded, mistaking the decoy for his fighter.

He adjusted his heading toward the bandit and toggled his comms to the command frequency. “Zvika Greengold, this is Alpha One. We’ve engaged four bandits after they fired on us. Request immediate backup along with search and rescue. Two bandits splashed. I say again, two bandits splashed.”

“Alpha One, this is Zvika Greengold actual. What is your current status?” Tehrani asked.

“Colonel, we’re in an active dogfight with unknown hostiles. Request immediate assistance.” I don’t have time to brief the damn brass right now. Justin rocked his Sabre from side to side, dodging a wave of what appeared to be red balls of energy, something new in his experience. “Alpha One out.”

Justin shifted in his flight harness as his fighter traded spaces with the bandit during a series of high-speed scissor turns. Finally, he ended up behind his quarry and opened fire with the neutron cannons. Several hits later, he was rewarded with the explosion of the craft in front of him. “Alpha One, splash one.”

“Alpha Two, splash one. That’s all of ’em, sir.”

Before Justin could catch his breath, Colonel Tehrani interrupted. “Say again last, Alpha One.”

“Colonel, we’ve now splashed four hostiles.” Justin focused on calming his breathing, though his hands shook almost uncontrollably. “Again, request search and rescue.”

“Can you identify your attackers, Lieutenant Spencer?” Tehrani’s voice was calm but held an undercurrent of concern.

Rightfully so. Enemy fighters weren’t a regular feature of solar systems designated for CDF training operations, especially not ones well within the Terran Coalition’s territorial boundaries. “No, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like them before. I’ll transmit my full sensor logs immediately.”

“Understood, Lieutenant. Pack it—”

Feldstein cut in, “I’ve got more hostiles on my LIDAR.”

“Additional bandits inbound, Colonel. Alpha One out.” That’s the second time I’ve cut off a senior officer today. Make that in my career.

Red dots appeared in his HUD, roughly one hundred kilometers away. “Form up on my wing, Alpha flight. Stand by for maximum missile range.” This time, we’re not waiting for these bastards to shoot first.

2

System 36XNZ—Open Space

Terran Coalition Border Zone

27 September 2433

Colonel Banu Tehrani stared straight ahead at the Tactical and Navigation consoles in front of the commanding officer’s chair on the CSV Zvika Greengold. While the escort carrier was over thirty-five years old, it had an illustrious name that went all the way back to Earth’s military history. As she sucked in a breath, numerous thoughts ran through her head, mostly centered on who was shooting at her pilots. After twenty-two years in the CDF, she’d only seen combat a handful of times and never as a CO.

Tehrani turned to her right and looked at her XO, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Wright. “Pirates?” She adjusted her ball cap, which was adorned with the Greengold’s logo and motto—Semper tempus, which translated to “Always in time.”

Wright shook his head. “Out here? No way. Pirates hit trade depots, not CDF fighters in an asteroid belt.” He shifted and pulled down the black space sweater he and most other officers and crewmen in the CDF wore over his khaki duty uniform. “Maybe the Coalition Intelligence Service got their hands on some advanced drones and is testing us. Though that seems outlandish, even for them.”

“Could be the Saurians,” First Lieutenant Zachary Bryan, the Zvika Greengold’s tactical action officer, interjected. “I don’t care what anyone says. They never forgave us for the plastering in the last war.”

“Hard to believe after over thirty years of peace.” Tehrani turned back at her XO. “What do we have on the flight line for ready five?”

“Four more Sabres with standard loadouts. And the usual SAR bird.”

“Get them into space and vector them toward Alpha flight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and tell the air boss to warm up the rest of the Red Tails squadron, just in case.”

Wright nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Trust in Allah and tie your camel to a tree.”

Bryan broke in, “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes. Unknown signature.”

Artificially created wormholes were the only known means of faster-than-light travel. The human version of the technology was known as a Lawrence drive, named after its creator.

Tehrani and Wright glanced at each other. She inhaled sharply and punched a button on her chair for the ship-wide intercom. “This is the commanding officer. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations.” She clicked the intercom off. “TAO, set material condition one throughout the ship, raise shields, and charge the energy-weapons capacitor.”

While the Zvika Greengold had a full complement of thirty-six space-superiority fighters and bombers, it lacked offensive anti-ship weaponry. It had close-in point defense and a limited number of neutron-beam emitters to engage other vessels. “Communications, order our escorts back. Emergency jumps, as fast as they can safely make it.”

First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh’s bright-purple turban bobbed up and down. “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He’d been assigned to the ship for several months and was short, at not a centimeter over 1.7 meters. The handgrip of his distinctive blade, known as a kirpan, was just visible above his waist.

Singh’s left shoulder bore the flag for the nation of India and the Sikh religion. One of the unique features of CDF uniforms was dual flags on the left shoulder. Regulations permitted any soldier to wear their country’s flag and religious emblems or, if they preferred, solely the flag of the Terran Coalition.

“Conn, TAO. Unknown vessels confirmed. Three ships, all of the same type and size. Roughly equivalent to a CDF frigate. Contacts designated Sierra One through Three.”

“Sierra” indicated that the target was unknown or not hostile. In the absence of identification, a new contact was never labeled as hostile, to prevent a potential tragedy.

“They’re raising deflector screens, and I show weapons-power buildup. Type unknown.”

Tehrani’s heart raced as she stared at her tactical plot. The possibly hostile vessels were directly ahead of them. What is going on here? A sixth sense warned her they were moments away from combat, but it didn’t add up. The Terran Coalition was at peace. “Range, TAO?”

“Fifteen thousand kilometers. They’re accelerating toward us rapidly, ma’am.”

“Communications, put out a wide-band hail. Instruct Sierra One through Three to turn away, or we’ll treat them as hostile.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The purple dots representing the incoming vessels moved ever closer on the holotank’s projected tactical plot. Tehrani stared at it, trying to decide the best course of action. What if they’re aliens and I screw up first contact, starting a war? As she pondered the situation, she realized that even if it was a first-contact situation, they’d already fired first—assuming the bandits Alpha Flight had splashed were from the same force. These ships are probably connected with the attack on Alpha, but I have to be careful not to assume. She turned toward Wright. “Thoughts, XO?”

“We have no choice but to treat the incoming as hostile and deal with them as such.”

The simply stated opinion made sense. “Agreed, but we don’t shoot unless they shoot first. TAO, redesignate Sierra One through Three as Master One through Three.” “Master” noted the target as a hostile entity. Tehrani leaned forward. “Get me a firing solution for our forward neutron beams. Communications, status of our escorts?”

“I’m having trouble getting through, ma’am. We’re being jammed.”

She sat back and punched a button. “Air boss, this is Colonel Tehrani. Scramble our bomber squadron, anti-capital-ship loadout. I say again, scramble all bombers.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change. Master One, Two, and Three have opened fire. Assess they’re using plasma-based weaponry.” As Bryan spoke, the ship rocked from repeated impacts. “Shields holding. Strain on fore generators rising.”

“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master One.” Tehrani’s voice took on rigid formality. “Forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solution set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

With that order, the CSV Zvika Greengold became the first CDF warship in almost thirty years to open fire on an enemy vessel in Terran Coalition space.

* * *

A LIDAR-tracked missile pursued Justin’s fighter through the void as he desperately jinked around a massive asteroid. He triggered the release of two chaff balls then pulled up sharply. The incoming warhead exploded in the cloud of decoys, creating a shockwave that nearly sent his Sabre into another rock. “I could use some help over here,” Justin called.

His HUD showed his three wingmen engaged in dogfights of their own. Deciding to try a new tactic, Justin engaged the afterburner on his craft. He whipped around multiple asteroids and through a dense cloud of ring material while avoiding red balls of energy flung at him by the enemy fighter. After picking out an unusually large rock, he used it to hide behind as he looped around and headed directly toward the craft firing on him.

Streaks of red flashed by his Sabre’s canopy. Some struck the shields, while most missed. Justin adjusted his aim until the neutron cannon lead indicator turned green, then he squeezed the trigger. Blue beams lanced out from his craft, cutting through the vacuum toward the enemy. Again and again, enemy fire struck his forward shields, while shot after shot of his own connected.

As his deflectors were about to fail, he armed a Vulture missile and pressed the button to fire. “Alpha One, fox three.”

Though Justin wrenched his fighter to the left, balls of red energy continued to find him for a few more seconds—until the impact of his missile on the enemy craft blew it to bits. Stunned, he let out a breath and checked the board. Two out of four bandits were down, while his wingmen continued to engage the rest. “Alpha One, splash one. I’m moving to assist.”

Mateus flew the nearest friendly fighter, engaging in a tight-turning series of scissor maneuvers with an enemy that was aggressively attempting to destroy her craft. Justin came in at full afterburners, and the moment the missile-lock-on tone sounded, he squeezed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three. Mateus, break right and burn.” If she does it right—hopefully the enemy will fly right into my missile.

“Roger, Alpha One.” Mateus’s fighter jinked to the right, and its afterburners kicked in. A few moments later, the enemy craft exploded from a direct missile hit.

“Alpha One, splash another one!” Testing himself in battle felt incredibly exhilarating after the hundreds of hours of training Justin had endured. And whoever they are, they’re getting what’s coming to them.

But the question remained: Who the heck are we fighting? Justin played it over and over in his mind.

“Alpha Three, splash one. We’re clear,” Adeoye said. “I show no further hostiles.”

“Alpha Three, I’m showing hull damage on your left wing.” Justin’s HUD provided details on each fighter’s status.

“No reduction in thrust or combat effectiveness, sir.”

Justin wondered how true the statement was. Even if entirely accurate, another hit on the affected area could be catastrophic. “Understood, Alpha Three. Stay in the back of our formation, and we’ll cover you.”

“Wilco, sir.”

“Resuming formation,” Feldstein said. “At this rate, you’ll be an ace before we get back to the Greengold, LT.”

“I doubt that,” Justin replied. “There hasn’t been an ace pilot in the CDF since… hell, the Saurian War.”

“Since when do reservists get to fight?” Mateus asked. “I signed up for one weekend a month, two weeks a year, and never thought I’d see combat. No complaints, though. That was a rush!”

Justin thought back to why he’d joined the CDF. Simple… free college. The degree program offered through Reserve Officers’ Training Corps had allowed him to get a degree without debt and set his young family up for success. I suppose helping to safeguard the Terran Coalition was in there too. But we don’t have any enemies. Or...we didn’t until now.

As the adrenaline of combat faded, he found something else in its wake: shock and stress reaction. His hands shook. My God, I just killed someone. Three someones, to be exact.

His commlink crackled, jerking him out of his fugue. “This is the Zvika Greengold to any friendly ships and fighters. We are under attack by hostile forces. I repeat, we’re under attack and request immediate assistance.” Lieutenant Singh’s voice cut through Justin’s mind like a knife.

These aren’t mere pirates. Someone is attacking the Terran Coalition. He cued his commlink. “You heard the man. Form up and stand by for max burn. It’s fifteen minutes back to the Zvika Greengold, and they need our help.”

He hoped they would make it in time.

3

“Conn, TAO. Port shields at forty-seven percent,” Bryan called. “Master Two and Three continue to focus their attacks on that quarter.”

From the CO’s chair, Tehrani split her gaze between her tactical display and the officers in front of her. They had four friendly space-superiority fighters, but those were of limited use against the enemy capital ships. Without bombers or the Zvika Greengold’s own escorts, the battle remained a losing proposition. If we didn’t have friendly fighters in the asteroid belt, I’d have already ordered a retreat. “Navigation, come to course two-one-zero. Roll the ship to present our dorsal deflectors to Master Two and Three.” Right now, I’m just buying time.

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Steady on course two-one-zero. Rolling the ship,” Second Lieutenant Leah Mitzner replied.

Weapons impacts continued to reverberate through the deck plating, though the Greengold tried to maneuver to avoid them. But a few seconds after engaging the turn, the shield capacity indicator on Tehrani’s display stopped its steady march to zero.

“Conn, Communications. Colonel, I’ve got Lieutenant Spencer on audio for you. His element is exiting the asteroid belt and is five minutes out.”

Tehrani perked up. Some welcome good news. She glanced at Wright. “About time. We can scoop up our pilots and get out of here, if nothing else.”

“Personally, I’m not interested in running from a fight,” Wright replied as he rubbed his arms. “We have to uphold our tradition of being in the right place at the right time, yeah?”

Instead of replying, Tehrani stared at her tactical plot and the blue dots representing the inbound flight of Sabres. “Communications, put Lieutenant Spencer on.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

A moment later, Justin’s voice came through the speaker on Tehrani’s chair. “Colonel, we’re coming in at max thrust. What’re your orders?”

“Link up with Beta element and engage the enemy, Lieutenant. We’re scrambling bombers and additional fighters. If the Greengold gets too banged up, we’ll pull back.”

“Understood, ma’am. Spencer out.”

Tehrani had little time to continue to ponder her tactical options. Between outgoing neutron beams from the Zvika Greengold and incoming plasma balls, the usually dull void of space was a lively place. All the while, our shields keep taking a beating.

“Conn, TAO. Master Two shields have failed.”

“TAO, vector the friendly fast movers to attack Master Two’s weapons emplacements.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

* * *

“Has anyone ever fired on a ship in space before?” Adeoye asked, the rich timbre of his voice filling the commlink.

“Once, at a shoot-ex during the Valiant Shield exercises,” Feldstein replied.

Justin listened to the banter, more focused on the battle ahead than idle chitchat. The scene on his HUD was nothing short of surreal—three moderately sized enemy warships engaged in a pitched battle with the Zvika Greengold. He swallowed. I picked a terrible week for my annual tour.

Their target, Master Two, loomed ominously. The vessel was oddly shaped, at least to his eye. Mostly black with red accent lighting, the enemy ship had two blocky turrets on its front hull, and both spewed red plasma balls. They make an excellent first target to me. “Alpha flight, link into my target package.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Feldstein said. “Taking out the turrets first?”

“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears, Lieutenant,” Justin replied. He left out his concern that the anti-fighter missiles the Sabres carried might not be strong enough to penetrate whatever armor plating the enemy had.

“That’s a negative, sir.”

“Stand by for max range.” Justin rotated his fighter’s trajectory slightly and toggled his laser designator pod on. “Alpha One, playing the music.”

“I’ve got a good lock,” Adeoye interjected.

The missile-lock-on tone sounded in Justin’s cockpit, and he immediately pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

A LIDAR-guided missile dropped from the underside of his fighter, and a split second later, its engine fired, sending it toward the target. The rest of his element fired, with four blue icons representing the inbound warheads populating his HUD.

“Follow our birds in and engage with energy weapons, Alpha flight.”

Each pilot responded with their confirmation of Justin’s orders, leaving him to make microadjustments to his approach in order to avoid taking down friendly missiles with his miniature neutron cannons. He squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, sending dozens of blue bolts through the void.

The fusillade from the small fighters blasted through space, and all four missiles struck home. They impacted directly on the turret’s housing, exploding with brief flashes of red flame. The target remained, though dozens of neutron cannon bolts slammed into the same area.

“Alpha, break off and circle back for another pass,” Justin said.

As he jinked his craft around and sped up, enemy point-defense fire found him. His aft shields dropped like a stone, going from ninety percent charge to twenty in a few seconds. “Watch out for that AAA fire!”

He punched the afterburners, and the g-force wore through his Sabre’s inertial dampers and pressed him firmly back in the pilot’s seat. It took a few more seconds to escape the deadly barrage. Justin let out a breath and calmed his nerves once more.

“That’s some nasty point defense those ships are sporting,” Feldstein commented. “I’ve got a couple of hits on my aft stabilizer. Nothing I can’t compensate for, though.”

As Justin looped his fighter around, he lined up for another attack run. A glance at his HUD confirmed the rest of Alpha had followed suit. “This time, Alpha Two, break right with me. Three and Four, break left. We’ll try to divide their fire.”

“Roger that, sir,” Adeoye replied.

The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the button to launch another Vulture missile toward their target. It barreled away, and much like his last attack run, he lined up to send a stream of blue energy at the turret. That time, the volley had the desired effect. As all four warheads impacted, the weapons mount on the hull buckled then blew apart in a dazzling display of red-tinted plasma flow. Incoming point-defense fire noticeably decreased as the element of fighters rocketed away. Maybe we hit something vital.

“Ordnance check. Next pass, we’ll hit the other turret.”

A flash of light filled his cockpit. It came from a new wormhole opening almost directly in front of his fighter. The maw of a black-hulled ship bristling with weapons emerged from it. He twisted the Sabre to the right and accelerated away to avoid a collision. As he passed, it became apparent that the new combatant had been made by whoever had made the other vessels they’d fought. Both the coloring and the hull configurations were nearly identical. The only difference was the new contact was bigger—a lot bigger.

* * *

“Conn, TAO,” Bryan began. “Aspect change… I’ve got a new contact designated Master Four. Same Lawrence-drive signature. It’s got seventy-five percent more mass than the other ships, ma’am.”

Tehrani’s heart skipped a beat as the new vessel glided into the battlespace. Still in the destroyer-size range, but it's sporting far more weapons emplacements. As if to underscore her concern, the newcomer flung a stream of plasma balls toward the already-taxed shields of the carrier. Time to go. “Communications—”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change,” Bryan interjected. “New contact… CSV Marcus Luttrell, designated Sierra One!” The young man’s voice went up an octave as he gave the report.

About time. “Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington and order him to engage the enemy.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

On her tactical plot, Tehrani watched as the Marcus Luttrell accelerated. Missiles erupted from her bow-mounted launchers along with multiple neutron beams and the coup de grâce of Terran Coalition weapons: magnetic cannons. The Galahad-class destroyer sported three turrets with dual barrels each, each three hundred millimeters in diameter. Thousand-kilogram projectiles spat out of them and slammed into the hapless enemy ship. As the missiles impacted with giant explosions of orange flame, secondary explosions blossomed across the hull.

“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed. Access warhead or fuel bunkerage cookoff.”

“XO, status of our bomber squadron?”

“Ten minutes to launch, ma’am. They’ll be launching with half stores, though.”

Tehrani nodded. “Until then, we’ll degrade the remaining enemy vessels.”

“Who are these people?” Wright asked quietly. “You don’t just show up in one of our star systems and attack the Coalition Defense Force.”

“If we’re lucky enough to disable something, I’ll order our Marine contingent to attempt a capture,” Tehrani replied. She made eye contact with him. “If nothing else, that should get us some answers.”

“Agreed.”

“Communications,” Tehrani began. “Contact CDF HQ on Canaan. Send our sensor logs.” She quickly glanced at Wright. “Just in case.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Four… Colonel, that ship is launching fighters. Same configuration as the ones deployed by the smaller vessels. I’m also detecting larger craft. Could be bombers.”

“Understood, TAO. Communications, signal Alpha and Beta elements to engage.” Allah help us. Tehrani set her jaw, staring at the tactical plot. The battle was suddenly mostly out of her hands.

* * *

“Tally ho, bandits at eleven o’clock, high!” Justin yelled. He used his craft’s mental link to designate a formation of what he assumed were four bombers behind a fighter screen. Friendly blue neutron beams issued from the Marcus Luttrell along with counter-fire filled the void around him. The contrasting colors were almost a thing of beauty—if the enemy hadn’t been trying to kill him and his fellow pilots.

“Sir, shouldn’t we attack the fighters first?” Mateus asked. “They can chew us up.”

“Negative, Alpha Four. If those bigger, slower craft are bombers, they’re the biggest threat to our ride. Neutralize them first, then clean up the remaining fighters. Beta element is tasked to engage all other enemies.”

“Understood, sir.”

Her comment wasn’t wrong, but Justin wasn’t taking any chances with their carrier. His training was clear—protect capital ships at all costs in a combat situation. While adrenaline still coursed through his veins, calm replaced his previous jitters. He methodically adjusted the trajectory of his Sabre to avoid flying head-on at the enemies screening the bomber group. The moment his missile lock-on sounded, he loosed a Vulture toward the nearest fighter. “Alpha One, fox three.”

“Alpha Four, fox three,” Mateus called a moment later.

Justin watched with satisfaction as his element tightened up after sending a salvo of four active LIDAR-tracking warheads toward the enemy. Two hit the same enemy, destroying it. One knocked down the forward shields of the fighter it connected with, while the fourth missed. We’re getting better at this. Alpha blew through the screening force and rocketed toward the bombers. “Okay, pilots, give ’em a volley of missiles, then we close in and take these guys down. They can’t maneuver, and we should be able to sit on their tails. Clear?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Adeoye replied. “We’ll be aces by the end of the day.”

“Stow that and focus on staying alive,” Justin snapped. The missile-lock-on tone sounded again. On the HUD, the targeting reticule highlighted one of the lumbering craft that moved at half the speed of the enemy fighters. He pressed the button for missile launch. “Alpha One, fox three.” The Vulture rocketed away from his Sabre and slammed into the bomber, which didn’t attempt to evade. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. The sensor readouts on Justin’s HUD showed a less than twenty percent shield-effectiveness drop from the impact. He whipped around the enemy, avoiding a string of red plasma balls fired from the bomber formation, and settled behind the lead craft. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.” He held down the firing trigger for the neutron cannons, and bright-blue bursts of energy stabbed out into the enemy. Five, ten, fifteen hits, then the bomber exploded. Damn. Those things are tough.

A new cluster of dots appeared on the HUD. Justin’s heart skipped a beat before he realized they were blue, indicating friendly forces. IFF transponders marked them as four Mauler bombers of the Gamma element. The Greengold had a single bomber squadron aboard, the Winged Lightnings.

“Hey, mates,” someone called.

Justin recognized the voice of First Lieutenant Francis Martin, a pilot who hailed from the Australian Federal State, one of the many member worlds of the Terran Coalition. The Aussie was larger than life, with a quip for everything. He and Justin had become friends over the last two weeks.

“Care to keep these ugly little buggers off our asses while we stuff their big ships full of explosives?”

Justin chuckled, and smatterings of laughter rippled through the commlink. “We’ve got your back,” he said as he rolled his Sabre around and accelerated toward the bomber formation. “Alphas Two and Four, finish off those bombers.”

“Wilco,” Feldstein replied quickly.

Martin’s voice came through loud and clear. “Glad to hear it, Spencer. Cheers, mate. I’ve got some beers on ice waiting for us. While we’re at it, maybe we can find something besides missiles to stuff into these buggers, eh?”

“Keep the commlinks clear for proper traffic,” Major Whatley suddenly barked.

It felt like the school principal finding you in the hall without a pass. The line stayed silent, as apparently no one wanted to respond. I oughta tell him to get out here and fight, rather than worry about our comms traffic. Justin grinned as he closed the distance on Gamma element. The idea that they were fighting up-gunned pirates went through his head again, but he rejected it. No, we’re fighting another military. But who? The craft attacking them matched nothing in the database, nor did the style of ship design.

The bomber pilots knew their business. Martin and the three other Maulers settled into a tight cluster formation resembling an upright diamond, allowing each to engage without being behind a friendly craft. It made life easy for Justin, as all he had to do was settle in above their formation with Adeoye. However, their opponents weren’t content to let them just blast their ships. Another wave of the snub-nosed, red-tinted fighters launched, and his HUD immediately labeled them hostile. “Alpha Three, break and engage inbound enemies.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha One,” Adeoye replied as he rolled away and engaged his Sabre’s afterburner.

Justin flew right behind him, lining up the lead enemy in his sights. The kilometers dropped quickly, and before long, the missile-lock-on tone sounded in his cockpit. Justin squeezed the firing button for a single Vulture active LIDAR-guided weapon. “Alpha One, fox three.” The missile dropped out of the munitions bay, and its engine engaged, accelerating toward the target. Six seconds later, the Vulture exploded against the enemy’s forward shield, while Justin poured neutron cannon fire into the mix.

Most of the enemies had broken off when struck by weapons fire, but not this one. The craft refused to alter course, instead sending bolt after bolt of red energy directly at Justin’s fighter. Hits piled up on his Sabre’s forward shield, and its protection rating dropped like a stone. He adjusted his shield power and redirected the aft generator forward, buying him precious few seconds to continue pouring neutron cannon fire onto the enemy. It worked—the black-and-red craft exploded in a brief flash of orange and blue before the vacuum of space consumed all available oxygen from the hapless fighter’s life-support system.

“Alpha One, splash one,” Justin called as he balanced the remaining deflector power his Sabre retained.

Adeoye’s fighter zoomed ahead, entering a series of interlocking scissors maneuvers with one of the other three enemy craft. He and the enemy pilot traded energy-weapons fire, each scoring several hits until Adeoye locked into the cone of lethality. A sustained stream of neutron-cannon bolts later, the unknown craft blew up.

“Nice shooting, Alpha Three,” Justin said.

“Whoever these guys are, they explode really well,” Mateus interjected. “Alpha Four, splash one.”

“Eyes on the ball, Lieutenant,” Justin replied with a chuckle.

While the furball continued, the friendly bomber element steadily closed the distance to the enemy frigate they’d lined up on. Justin tried to monitor his HUD’s LIDAR display as the deadly dance between his Sabre and the hostile fighters continued, to make sure nothing broke off to chase down the vulnerable bombers.

“We’re ten seconds out, chaps,” Martin said. “I’ve got a green light, Javelin ready. Gamma One, fox one.” He used the brevity code for firing an anti-ship missile.

Each one of Gamma’s bombers loosed a Javelin, which headed directly for the frigate labeled Master Three. With no escorting fighters between the warheads and their target, the only remaining obstacle was the enemy vessel’s point defense system. It flung a hail of small red plasma balls into the void, which made for an impressive display, but that was all it did. Three out of four missiles impacted its forward shield quarter, hammering down the frigate’s shields and blowing off a sizeable chunk off its bow. Secondary explosions began, and after a few seconds, the entire vessel blew apart into one-meter-sized pieces. No life pods launched.

“Take that, you stupid buggers!” Martin shouted. “Now, let's go piss on the next one, mates!”

As infectious as his enthusiasm was, something in the back of Justin’s mind told him that cheering the death of hundreds of people or aliens probably wasn’t the right way to approach the situation. But he set the thought aside and picked his next target.

* * *

Tehrani stared out the transparent alloy “window” at the front of the Zvika Greengold’s bridge. It took several seconds for the explosion resulting from Master Three’s destruction to die down. As it did, it cast a shadow across the entire combat information center. Two down, two to go. A glance at her tactical readout showed that the largest ship, Master Four, still had most of its deflector strength intact.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, wormholes inbound,” Bryan began. “Both are CDF signature, ma’am. CSV Glasgow and CSV Sheffield, designated Sierra Two and Three.”

The last of our escorts. “Plug them into the tactical network, Lieutenant. Designate Master Four as the primary target for all ships and bombers,” Tehrani said.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Her eyes went back to the tactical plot on the screen built into the CO’s chair. Blue icons of the Greengold’s escorts and fighter squadrons filled the display. They swarmed around the two remaining red icons like bees. Additional symbols for anti-ship missiles appeared from the flight of bombers and quickly accelerated into the side of Master One, merging with its icon and blinking out.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. She’s powering up her Lawrence drives, ma’am.”

A few moments later, the icon for the enemy vessel disappeared, leaving only the largest ship on the battlefield. Again and again, the escorts and bombers lashed out with every weapon at their disposal. It took several volleys to batter down the vessel’s shields, but once they did, explosions erupted across its hull.

“Conn, TAO. Master Four is attempting to jump out,” Bryan said as he turned around in his chair. “They’re not going to make it. Sensors show runaway exotic-particle release.”

His words were prophetic. Through the transparent alloy windows, a massive orange explosion suddenly came into view.

“Conn, TAO. Master Four has been destroyed. All enemy fighters neutralized. We’re clear.” Bryan used a soft tone, and his words were measured.

“Damage report, XO?” Tehrani asked, tilting her head slightly.

“One moment, ma’am.” Wright quickly scanned several screens of information. “Hull damage, deck eight. Two lost to the void. Several dozen wounded and light damage to the landing bays.” He pursed his lips. “All systems combat operational.”

With the sudden danger of combat passed, Tehrani’s mind found the space it needed to consider the human cost. I’ve never lost a crewman under my command before. She forced herself not to show emotion on the bridge. “Fast-mover losses?”

“Two Sabres lost, ma’am. Strong signal off one escape pod… the other pilot didn’t make it.”

Wright’s words hung over the bridge and Tehrani’s head. “Deploy search and rescue. Bring our pilot in and see if anyone is left alive in any of the enemy’s wreckage. Keep our CSP out in force… and, Communications, find CDF command. We’ve got to alert them to what’s going on.” The last part, she said for the benefit of the bridge team, as anxious stares and worried expressions had replaced the frantic pace of combat.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani sat back in her chair, mentally running through the combat evolution. One thing was for sure—her ship and crew had performed remarkably well for never having engaged in actual combat. We lived up to our name today. Despite everything else, that thought brought a smile to her face.

4

Two hours later, after search-and-rescue operations concluded and the escape pod of Second Lieutenant Al-Mufti was recovered, Justin and his Alpha element were the last four fighters to touch down on the hangar deck of the Zvika Greengold. The carrier had two primary bays, with the one nearest the bridge tower configured for recovery and the other set up for launch. Automated landing systems took control of his Sabre as he closed within five hundred meters of the ship. His ship came to rest near the large CVE-73 marking in the center of the flight deck. The moment his cockpit canopy opened, Justin sprang up, and the crew chief rolled a ladder over for him to climb down.

“How about that—we’re all aces!” Mateus called from across the hangar. She was still wearing her full flight suit, minus the helmet, and the flag of the Republic of Brasilia was displayed on the left shoulder of her uniform. She strode over quickly. “I can’t believe it, Spencer. We’re all alive too.”

“Not all of us,” Justin replied. “Al-Mufti didn’t make it back.”

“It was still a good day.” Mateus stretched her neck. “Feldstein and Adeoye are waiting in the ready room. Debriefing starts in thirty minutes, Major Whatley’s orders.”

Justin nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m waiting for shock to set in.” He furrowed his brow. “It’s weird to describe, but in the moment, flying that fighter through space, pulling thirteen Gs, and fighting for my life…”

“Exhilarating?” Mateus rocked from foot to foot. “I’ve felt nothing like it before.”

“Not quite the word I’d use.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s the Portuguese half of me.” Mateus winked. “I’ll see you around.”

“In thirty minutes,” Justin replied and watched her walk away.

He mentally steeled himself for the debriefing while pondering what was going to happen next. All around him, the deck crew busied themselves with preparing the two squadrons of fighters and bombers for space combat once more. The Thane-class escort carriers only had three squadrons—thirty-six small craft in total—embarked. To see everything the ship carried being readied for action was a jarring sight in what had been, until an hour ago, peacetime.

Maybe I have enough time to get a message to my wife. He set off for his cabin to try. All the while, he ran the question of who they were fighting through his head. While it made little sense, Justin had the feeling the designs he’d seen were human built. But what humans would attack the Terran Coalition?

* * *

“Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from CDF command, ma’am.”

Singh’s voice interrupted Tehrani’s mental considerations as she stared at a list of stores—munitions, food, and consumables such as oxygen and water—and found it woefully inadequate for combat. She glanced up at him. “Route to my viewer, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Several seconds later, a security challenge appeared on her chair-mounted screen, to which she pressed her finger into a biometric scanner. After it had confirmed her identity, a message—text only—appeared on the panel. Reading halfway through it, Tehrani sucked in a breath. “This communique is six hours old. Why did we just receive it?”

“Jamming, ma’am. There’s still long-range communication issues, but taking out those enemy ships”—he shrugged—“seemed to reduce the amount of interference.”

“Colonel?” Wright asked. His eyes narrowed, and his face was taut. Stress leaked from behind his facade of professionalism. “What’s it say?”

“We are at war.” The words fell out of Tehrani’s mouth like a hammer.

Enlisted ratings stole glances at each other, while the officers openly stared at their commanding officer.

She forced down the bile rising from her stomach. “An unknown enemy has appeared within the Terran Coalition’s borders and is pushing steadily toward Canaan.” Our home world. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing.

“We should address the crew,” Wright whispered as he leaned in. “Let them know what’s going on.”

Tehrani nodded and punched a button to enable the ship-wide intercom, also known as 1MC. Fear crept into her heart. Whatever I feel, I must project strength. With a set jaw, she began to speak. “Attention all hands, this is your commanding officer.” She glanced at Wright. “I would first like to thank the entire crew of the Zvika Greengold for their professionalism, adherence to duty, and incredible performance during the combat engagement we just won. No one expected a pitched battle with enemy capital-class vessels to happen today, but this crew rose to the occasion. It is an honor to command you, and you bring great credit to the Coalition Defense Force with your service. Today, we lived up to the CDF motto of Semper paratus—always ready.” She took a deep breath.

Around the bridge, every eye was on her. Even the enlisted ratings, who should’ve been paying attention to the myriad of displays, gazed intently.

“CDF Command has set Defense Condition One. The Terran Coalition is now at war with an unidentified enemy, who has a fleet of over one thousand warships. And they’re headed to our homes. All CDF vessels are ordered to return at best speed to Canaan to assist in its defense. All I expect from each one of you is that you do your duty.” Tehrani clicked off the 1MC.

“A thousand ships?” Bryan asked. “Colonel, with respect, the CDF doesn’t have but… what? Two hundred?”

Fear is a powerful opponent. Tehrani could feel it coursing through the bridge. “Lieutenant,” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “The planetary nation-states have hundreds more ships at their disposal. I might add, our warships appear to be technologically superior to theirs. Whoever they are. We will prevail.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“XO, I want a complete readiness report. Stand down from condition one. Make sure our people get some rest, because I expect the next twenty-four hours will be among the worst of our lives.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani’s gaze swept the bridge once more. Everyone still stared, and fear was evident in most of their faces.

“Navigation,” she said as she set her jaw. “Plot a course back to Canaan and relay it to our escorts. I want to be underway in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Plotting jump waypoints.”

* * *

Tehrani and Wright left the bridge together, leaving Lieutenant Bryan on the conn. It had been several hours since the Zvika Greengold started her journey back to the heart of the Terran Coalition. Tehrani kept thinking she was caught in a vivid and detailed nightmare, and at any moment, her alarm would go off. Too bad that’s not reality. Their destination was the briefing room on deck one, directly aft of the bridge. Common to all CDF warships, it was considered the CO’s domain and used for command-level meetings.

“I asked Major Whatley to meet with us,” Tehrani explained as she pushed the hatch open to the conference room and strode in. “Frankly, I’m concerned about having a ship full of reservist pilots getting their flight time in as our front-line combatants.”

“You’re not the only one, Colonel.” Gabriel Whatley had already arrived. He sat at the end of the table, in a fresh khaki service uniform. An American flag patch rested on his left shoulder, and nothing was under it. After Tehrani cleared the threshold, he rose respectfully to attention.

“As you were, Major.”

Tehrani took a seat at the other end of the table, while Wright dropped into the next chair.

“Gentlemen, thank you for joining me.” She rested her hands on the hard surface. “Well, you know why I asked you here, Major. While acknowledging that the pilots we had in space today fought superbly, I want your opinion on whether we can handle sustained fighting. CDF combat doctrine calls for four sorties a day.”

Whatley scrunched his brow. “As long as I’m the CAG, Colonel, we’ll be ready for whatever the enemy throws at us. That said, I have concerns about the training of our current pilots, and I’d like to request we get our regular squadrons back as soon as possible.”

“Agreed, ma’am. I’ve already put in the request to command,” Wright added.

“With that out of the way,” Tehrani said as she steepled her hands together, “what do you propose for an on-deck combat space patrol and squadron readiness as we approach Canaan?”

“All pilots on ready thirty starting four hours out, with the Red Tails squadron on ready five,” Whatley began. “We don’t have enough anti-ship missiles to outfit all of our bombers, but I’ve ordered them distributed equally. So, we must make every shot count.” His mouth remained curled in a frown.

“I see.”

“One other thing, Colonel. I intend to suit up. If needed, I’ll launch with the combat wing. This is too important for me to sit on the sidelines.”

Tehrani stared intently at him. “Aren’t you afraid of losing operational control of the wing during combat?”

“I have to trust the squadron commanders to do their jobs. Yes, they’re reservists, but it has to be enough.”

“Your call, Major.” Tehrani shifted her gaze to Wright. “Damage control status?”

“Everything we can repair in space is done, ma’am. We recovered the bodies of both soldiers who were sucked out during the decompression event and our lost pilot. They’re all in the ship’s morgue.” Wright bit his lip. “Some of the crew are talking about a memorial. Lots of shocked soldiers.”

“It’ll have to wait until whatever is waiting for us at Canaan is dealt with,” Tehrani replied. “Allah help us, but I suspect those three aren’t the last.”

“Probably a given in war, Colonel,” Whatley interjected.

The hatch swung open. “Sorry ta interrupt, Colonel,” Major Carlyle Hodges said in his Cockney accent. “But do you have a moment?”

Tehrani glanced backward and nodded. “Of course. Have a seat.”

“Thank ya,” he replied as he pulled a chair out and sat in it. The chief engineer of the Greengold, Hodges wore a navy-blue jumpsuit that was covered in grease stains. His left shoulder was adorned with the flag of Great Britain. “I need to discuss these back-to-back Lawrence drive jumps, ma’am. The engines aren’t made for it.” His eyes bored into her. “And we’re risking exotic-particle release.”

“Our home is under attack.” Tehrani held up her right hand. “Nothing else matters.”

“Ma’am—”

“I served a duty rotation as an engineering specialist,” Tehrani interjected. “It’s eight jumps back. As long as we observe the cooldown period—”

“With respect, ma’am,” Hodges interrupted, his eyes flashing with anger, “this ship is thirty years old. Our drives haven’t been through a full refit cycle in eight years, thanks to military budget cuts. You’re risking the lives of everyone aboard.” He crossed his arms.

The outright hostility from her chief engineer shocked Tehrani. He’d always been a bit arrogant, but his current attitude was new. “Major, your objections are noted.” For a moment, she considered dismissing him, but given the forcefulness of his protest, he apparently had a genuine concern. “What would you have us do? Canaan is under attack. We need to get there and join the fight.”

“My sister lives there, Colonel. I know the stakes as well as you. It doesn’t matter if we smear our atoms across two light-years when the ship explodes coming out of a wormhole. I tried to give my recommendation to the XO earlier.” He cast a dirty look in Wright’s direction. “But he rebuffed me.”

Tehrani forced herself not to sigh. “Gentlemen, I don’t have time for your petty bickering. You’ve both demonstrated a lack of respect for the other during the last six months. I’ve tried managing it softly, but guess what. The rules just changed. Either solve this, or I’ll tell you how to work with each other until I can get replacement officers.” Her voice took on the quality of ice. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wright replied crisply.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hodges echoed a moment later.

“With that out of the way… what is your recommendation, Major?”

“Only one jump per ninety minutes. It’ll delay our arrival at Canaan by four hours, but it’s the best we can do, and it still give us the ability to double jump at a critical juncture.”

“Very well. That’s what we’ll do.” Tehrani had learned a long time ago never to second-guess the chief engineer. Push them, yes, but once the ruling came down, accept it as gospel. He or she was almost always correct. “Anything else, gentlemen?”

Silence met her question.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.”

* * *

While the senior staff met and the aviation crew worked on rearming the fighters in the hangar, the Alpha-shift enlisted personnel and pilots enjoyed some off time. Justin was among them—after he’d attempted to use the ship’s communication system to call his wife, Michelle, who lived with their children back on New Washington. After the third attempt, Lieutenant Singh politely reminded him that EMCON Alpha was engaged, and violating it was a felony offense under the Universal Code of Military Justice.

Justin brought a meal back to his quarters and consumed it quietly. As he did, he tried to make sense of the day, processing the images of actual combat again and again. Fighters and bombers exploded in front of his eyes, destroyed by his hand. The Spencers weren’t particularly a military family. His father hadn’t served, but his grandfather joined in the opening years of the Saurian Wars, starting in 2376. He recalled the stories of flying unshielded fighters into the teeth of Saurian defenses and the heroic deeds of his grandfather’s squadron.

All of it had led to Justin deciding to join the CDF when he was eighteen. It had seemed like a great way to pay for his college education, see the galaxy, different planets, and areas of space, and enjoy his early twenties. I should’ve realized that signing up for the military meant I might have to fight. Justin’s mind drifted away to the day before he’d deployed for the two-week tour they were on—what was supposed to be his last duty assignment.

* * *

New Washington—Spencer Residence

Terran Coalition

12 September 2433

Justin opened his eyes to find his four-year-old daughter, Margaret—whom he called Maggie—standing next to the bed, nearly at eye level. As the mental grogginess cleared, he mumbled, “Good morning.” The bedroom door was ajar, and he vaguely remembered that they had plans to go to the park after breakfast.

She jumped on him. “Good morning, Daddy!” Maggie bounced up and down between Justin and Michelle.

“Munchkin, it’s six in the morning,” Michelle said wearily. “Do you think you could go brush your teeth and let Mommy and Daddy wake up?”

“Are we going to the park?” Maggie asked brightly, as if it were the only thing that mattered.

“Of course we are. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Justin replied. He grabbed her and pulled her to him in a giant hug. “Now, do what Mommy said, and we’ll make breakfast in a few minutes.”

“Okay!” Maggie shouted then bounced out of the king-size bed and into the hallway, singing as she went.

“Oh, she is so your daughter.” Michelle laid her head on Justin’s chest. “Are you looking forward to your two-week vacation tomorrow?”

“Vacation? Really?” he replied playfully.

“Oh, come on. You’re going to zoom around the galaxy, going crazy fast in a small fighter, and probably get to shoot up some asteroids or a comet. Yeah, that’s a vacation. Meanwhile, I’ll be getting her to school every morning and staying home by myself, while working full time.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a vacation,” he replied. “But I’ll enjoy parts of it.”

“Uh-huh. Like all of it.”

“Do you know what I’ll enjoy the most?”

“What?”

“Coming home to you and Maggie.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

She giggled in reply. “You are so sweet and romantic. Almost cloyingly so.”

“It’s why you married me, right?”

“That, and who can resist a man in uniform.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “And on that note, I’m getting a shower.” He moved out of bed and stood. “Are you coming with us to the park?”

“Yeah. They just opened up that new bike path. You can take her to the fountains while I get some exercise.”

“Deal.”

Twenty minutes later, Justin was shaved, showered, and dressed. He selected a pair of shorts that came to his knees and a purple T-shirt to go with his sandals. With one last check of his appearance, which included having to duck slightly because his two-meter height cut off the top of his hair in the mirror, Justin was ready to face the day.

He walked through their modest two-story house on the outskirts of suburbia. Justin had rented it for them the year before after they outgrew his small one-bedroom apartment. Abstract artwork lined the walls along with family photos, including pictures of Maggie as a baby. Ending up in the kitchen, he found both of them seated at the table, waiting on him.

“Sorry. Took me a few extra minutes to get my beard back in regulation,” he said with a chuckle as he slid into the empty seat with a plate of hot food in front of it.

“Don’t forget the mustache,” Michelle replied in reference to a private joke from when Justin was still on active duty. “It’s never in regulation.”

Justin laughed loudly, thinking of how many times he’d gotten ribbed for showing up at basic training with a mustache. “Touché.” He dug into his food.

Michelle cleared her throat. “You forgot to say grace.”

He glanced up with a sheepish expression on his face. “Uh, grace?”

“I’ll do it, Mommy,” Maggie interjected. She bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for the food we’re about to receive. Keep Daddy safe in space, and help me be a good girl for Mommy. Amen.”

“Amen!” Michelle chorused before taking a bite of her eggs.

Each plate had bacon, eggs, and toast on it. Justin’s had more than the rest of them, and he attacked it with gusto. “Thank you, ladies. I love a full breakfast.”

“I wonder what you’ll get for breakfast on… what’s the ship you’re on again?”

“CSV Zvika Greengold. It’s a thirty-year-old escort carrier from the end of the Saurian Wars. Too bad we can’t train on the new ships like a Saratoga-class carrier,” Justin groused. “That’d be so much fun.”

“Because being in space for weeks on end is fun,” Michelle teased. “No, thank you. I prefer keeping my legs planted on New Washington firma.”

“Uh-huh.”

By the time Justin polished off his food, both his wife and his daughter had finished their meal. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, yawning. “I think it’s time we get a move on.”

“You two go ahead, and I’ll catch up,” Michelle replied. “I’ve got a quick errand to run.”

Justin nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Maggie, you ready?”

“Ready, Daddy!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, flying off the chair, and ran so fast to the front door that she was almost a blur.

“I think that’s my cue.” Justin stood and kissed his wife on the top of her hair. “See you later, baby.”

Michelle smiled in a way that always made his heart melt. “I love you.”

He turned and grinned. “Love you too.”

With that, Justin made his way to the front door, which Maggie had thrown open. She was running toward one of the two helicars parked in front of their home.

Shaking his head with a smile, he walked to his vehicle and opened it by scanning his handprint. “Okay, munchkin. In the back you go, and fasten your seatbelt.”

Maggie opened the door and climbed in. The helicar sensors flagged her size and weight, and the integrated child-protection system came out from the back of the seat and locked into place an arm on each side of her. “When can I sit up front with you?”

She asked that question every time they took a ride together. “You’ve got a few years, dear. It’s safer for you in the back.”

While most Terran Coalition citizens would engage the autopilot and allow the automated planetary-flight-control system to fly their helicar, Justin preferred manual mode. He had to accept responsibility for any accidents through several pop-up screens in the vehicle's steering system, and once he had, he powered up the throttle. The helicar shot up into the sky, and he engaged maximum thrust to skim over the trees at two hundred kilometers per hour. It only took five minutes, including landing time, to get to the park. Once they arrived, he parked near the main entrance and got out, touching a button to allow Maggie to exit as he did.

She bounded out and jumped on the ground. “Daddy, pick me up!”

One of her seemingly favorite activities was to ride on Justin’s shoulders and see the world from two meters up. With a grin, he reached down and slung her on top of him. “Hold on tight, now.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

With Maggie holding on to his head, Justin walked through the tall, genetically engineered pines. They had been grown from seeds brought from Earth and adapted to the slight environmental differences of the planet’s soil. Through a freak of genetic splicing, they had purple needles instead of the usual dark green. They were a thing of beauty and what made the park unique.

Maggie reached out and grabbed a branch as they walked by, pulling some needles off. “Here, Daddy. Take one of these with you for luck,” she said, handing a needle down to him.

He took the offered leaf and put it in his pocket. “I’ll put it in the cockpit of my Sabre.”

“Will you take me for a ride one day so that I can see space too?”

“Someday, we’ll do a family trip together… but this next trip is my last one in the CDF.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll have completed what I promised I would, Maggie.”

“You don’t want to keep flying? Mommy said you love flying through asteroid fields and acting like a hot dog.”

Justin laughed and set her down. They’d reached the hill she wanted to slide down. “I think she was saying I like to hotdog my fighter, and she’s right. There’s nothing like pulling turns around rocks, dodging ring particles, and putting on a show. One of these days, I’ll rent a shuttle and take us up into the Oort cloud around our solar system.”

“When I grow up, I want to be a pilot just like you!” Maggie exclaimed then grabbed one of the makeshift hard-plastic sleds at the bottom of the hill and took off to the top. When she got there, she hopped onto the device and flung herself down the grass, going faster and faster until it spun out at the bottom. “That was so much fun! Do it with me, Daddy! Please, please, please!”

“Okay, Maggie.” Justin flashed a smile and started climbing up the hill.

She ran, quickly outdistancing him, and he playfully made a show of running faster to keep up. Then Justin lost his footing, and down he went, rolling over and over until he came to rest at the bottom of the slope. He looked up to see Michelle standing over him.

“I leave you for fifteen minutes, and you cake your clothes in mud?” she asked. She made a show of shaking her head. “Oh, come on, you two. We’re going home to get cleaned up.”

Maggie ran into his arms, and he lifted her back onto his shoulders. “Okay. But we’re stopping for ice cream first.”

“Yay!” Maggie shouted.

Michelle just rolled her eyes and walked away.

As she did, Justin felt thankful that he was about to have his last time away from them. When Maggie was born, he’d made the choice to get out after two years of active service, as the possibility of his dying in the line of duty always crept up on him prior to deployments. Life as a midlevel product manager for a software company might be boring, but at least he would come home to his family safe and sound every night. Children. Michelle wants a small army of them. He grinned at the thought and kept walking behind her.

* * *

Tears streamed down Justin’s face at the memory of Maggie riding on his shoulders in the park. More than anything, he longed to hold her and his wife in his arms and tell them everything would be okay and that he would be home soon. But as there was no way to accomplish that goal, he instead tried to force himself to go to sleep. Hopefully, when he woke, the war would be over. Regardless, perhaps he would be rested and ready to fight again.

5

Deep Space

Terran Coalition Inner Core

28 September 2433

Justin barely slept, if the on-again, off-again thirty-minute naps between staring at the top of his bunk could be called sleep. An hour before he was supposed to report to the squadron ready room, Justin finally roused himself from the bed. He took a quick space shower comprising thirty seconds of water followed by lathering from head to toe with soap and another two minutes of water to rinse—barely enough to beat him back into the land of full alertness.

When Justin stumbled through the hatch to the Red Tails squadron ready room, he found several pilots already there. He mumbled a hello, helped himself to a large mug of black coffee, and sat in a chair. The room was arranged like a small theater, with one exception—every chair in the place was leather, and they were extra comfortable. Makes sense. We sit here for hours, waiting for something to happen.

“Hey,” Feldstein said as she glanced up from a tablet she had been studying intently. “Didn’t hear you come in. You look like crap.”

“Good morning to you, too, Dvora,” Justin replied with a crooked grin. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“It was hard to nod off. I’ll give you that.” She set the tablet down next to her. “What’d you do instead?”

“Tried to vidlink my wife. No dice, thanks to the comms blackout. I eventually got two hours, maybe.” Justin took a sip of the hot coffee and burned his throat. “Aaagh.”

The enormity of the events going on around him was overwhelming. So much for wondering what the defining moment of my life will be. A week ago, he was just another cog in the massive wheel of the Terran Coalition, with a regular civilian job and a small family. Now, I’m at the sharp tip of the spear.

Major Whatley striding through the hatch ended the conversation.

Justin sprang to his feet along with the rest of those present and came to attention.

“As you were,” Whatley said as he walked toward the podium directly in front of the large screen at the front of the room. He synched his tablet with the interface and turned toward the group of pilots. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to start by congratulating you on being members of a rare breed: space-combat command pilots who’ve seen actual combat. The entire squadron acquitted itself well. And for that, I commend you.” He cleared his throat. “Now, on to business. We’re two jumps out from Canaan. Communications have improved to the point that we know who we’re fighting: the League of Sol.”

“The league of what?” Mateus interjected. “That sounds like a cult or something.”

Laughter erupted from the other pilots.

Whatley held up his hand. Not a trace of mirth was on his face. “Earth.”

The laughter stopped as quickly as it had started.

“From what the Coalition Intelligence Service can tell, we’re facing humans from Earth. Details are naturally limited, but it would appear that the World Society survived after the rest of us left.”

Justin and Feldstein exchanged glances. He was stunned. Vague bits of history came back to him from high school. Our ancestors escaped Earth over three hundred fifty years ago from communist oppression. Why now? Anger overcame him. With so many habitable planets in the Orion spur, why attack us here? They don’t need the space.

“The why doesn’t concern me. The only thing that does is defeating this enemy.” Whatley touched his tablet, and the 3-D holoprojector came to life, showing a detailed view of the Canaan system with its moons, orbital space installations, and CDF assets. “The fleet has rallied. The enemy outnumbers us five to one.”

Gasps filled the room.

“Oh goody, a target-rich environment,” Mateus said to raucous laughter.

“Lieutenant, be careful what you wish for,” Whatley replied in his gravelly tone. “Though I appreciate the sentiment.” He scanned the room. “The Red Tails will be on ready five, starting in one hour at our next jump. Get a bite to eat, handle your biobusiness, and get strapped in. I’d strongly recommend taking a ration bar with you for the hours of boredom before all hell breaks loose. Consider it a tip from a professional.” He paused for a moment. “Any questions, pilots?”

Silence greeted him.

“Dismissed and Godspeed.”

Everyone sprang up from their chairs and made a beeline for the hatch.

As Justin got down to the first row, Whatley held up his hand. “A word in private, Lieutenant Spencer.”

Justin stepped to one side. Uh-oh. “Of course, sir.”

The hatch closed behind Feldstein, and they were alone.

As Whatley stared at Justin, he had a feeling that Whatley was sizing him up. The major had quite the reputation as an old-school soldier with a gruff and demanding demeanor.

Finally, Whatley spoke. “I’m allowing you to remain in nominal command of the Red Tails. I don’t enjoy having a reservist as my lead fighter pilot, but”—he shrugged—“I have no other choice.”

Justin stiffened and grimaced. “With respect, sir, I did my duty, and Alpha element held its own.”

“You more than held your own. But it doesn’t change that you’re not a career pilot, and as far as I’m concerned, you didn’t join for the right reasons.”

“Sir?”

Whatley smirked. “Come on, Spencer. You and I both know you got a scholarship out of this, put in the minimum time, took deferral to the reserves as soon as you could, and hoped never to see the inside of another military small craft as long as you lived. That about sum it up?”

For a moment, Justin froze. His cheeks heated, while his mouth opened and closed several times. The truth was undeniable. The way he puts it makes me sound like a coward. Justin briefly felt shame before anger took over. He set his jaw. “Major, I… Look, I couldn’t afford school. I tested high in the CVAB. I’d always loved the idea of flying a fighter in space. So, yeah. I took advantage of the hand life dealt me.”

“In my book, you join the military for one reason, son. That’s defending your country against all enemies, foreign and domestic… in case you don’t remember the oath we took.”

Justin gritted his teeth. “Do you have a point, sir?”

“I always have a point, Lieutenant.” Whatley moved, closing to within two inches of Justin's face. “The moment an active-duty squadron is available to replace the Red Tails, I’m taking it. Until then, do as you’re ordered, stay out of my way, and try not to get the men and women under your command killed. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Justin forced the words out through barely disguised rage.

“Dismissed.”

Justin turned on his heel and marched out of the ready room as he struggled to control his emotions. Who the hell does Whatley think he is? I did my duty. A black cloud followed him as he prepared to enter the cockpit once more.

* * *

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive emergence complete, within a thousand kilometers of target,” Mitzner called as she shifted in her seat.

Tehrani gazed straight ahead, past Mitzner and Bryan and out into the black void of space. Seven jumps in ten and a half hours. We’re probably lucky to be alive. She turned to Wright. “Any signs of exotic-particle release?”

“No, ma’am.” Wright leaned forward. “I doubt luck had anything to do with it.”

“And you attribute our good fortune to?”

“Maybe a small touch of divine intervention? I could be charitable and credit our chief engineer.”

Since Tehrani had laid down the law the previous day, Wright and Hodges had seemed to get along much better.

“Both sound plausible to me. What about intel updates?”

“Nothing beyond what we already know. The holonews channels are filled with panicked people and rumors of invasion fleets being sighted across the Terran Coalition. CIS still says there’s one force, and it’s at Canaan. They appear to be going for a knockout blow.”

“It would make sense to decapitate our leadership, primary shipyards, and military installations.”

“Pearl Harbor.”

Tehrani stared at him. “Pearl what?”

“The site of a battle back on Earth. Second World War,” Wright began. “I studied military history during my time at the academy. The Japanese military attempted to destroy the American Navy’s Pacific fleet in one fell swoop. The Americans got lucky and didn’t lose their carriers.”

“I think I remember reading something about that.” Tehrani quirked her nose. “As long as we don’t go down in the history books as losing the war during our first battle.”

“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. “Flash traffic from CDF Command.”

“My viewer, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied. She turned to the monitor as a vidlink image appeared.

“Colonel, this is Lieutenant Andrew MacIntosh. I’m attached to General Irvine’s flag staff.” The young man on the screen was wearing CDF duty khakis. He spoke with a bit of a brogue, which matched the Scottish flag on his left shoulder in the country position.

Tehrani checked the series of authentication codes that came through then nodded. “Understood, MacIntosh. What can we do for you?”

“The CSV Conqueror suffered catastrophic reactor failure while attempting a Lawrence drive jump to the fleet’s muster location. She’s under attack by a small force of League escorts and bombers. The Zvika Greengold is ordered to jump immediately and relieve her by any means necessary then render aid as required to get that battleship back in operation. General Irvine wishes to explicitly remind you that losing any capital vessel will be a severe blow to our cause.”

“Understood, Lieutenant. Will there be any backup?”

“We can’t spare anything beyond your battlegroup. Once the Conqueror is back in action, your unit will receive additional orders. Command out.”

“I’ll give him this—he’s direct,” Wright said. “I see a problem here.”

Tehrani turned her head. “Oh?”

“Our escorts are one jump back. Their drives aren’t as powerful as ours, and we couldn’t jump other ships through without overly straining our engines. That wasn’t supposed to be a problem—”

“But it is now.” Tehrani closed her eyes. Allah help us. “Four or five thousand soldiers are on that old battlewagon, hoping we’ll ride to the rescue, XO.” Smiling, she said, “Semper tempus,” then pointed toward his ballcap emblazoned with the Zvika Greengold’s Latin motto.

“We should at least check with engineering.” Wright made a face. “I have no interest in dying in a Lawrence drive malfunction.”

“Agreed.” Tehrani chuckled and toggled her chair-integrated intercom to contact the primary engineering spaces. “Major Hodges, can you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you, skipper?”

“We need to jump as soon as possible. What’s our current risk level?”

“Too high, ma’am. To get under one percent of failure, I need another ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

“Ma’am—”

“Five minutes, Major.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani smiled as the line clicked off. “I learned a long time ago that engineers always pad the estimates.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Wright laughed. “We’d better alert flight control. This is going to be hairy. I assume you have a plan?”

“Drop out as close to the Conqueror as possible, launch our birds, and hope it’s enough.” I make it sound so easy. While it’s true that we trained for this, the real thing is far different from training scenarios.

“Ah, the simple plan.”

“Touché, XO.” Tehrani turned her eyes forward. “Navigation, plot a jump course to the coordinates loaded in our tactical computer from command.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“TAO, raise shields and charge the energy weapon capacitor.”

Bryan nodded. “Aye, aye, ma’am. Shields energized. Capacitor charging.”

“Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani,” she said after engaging the 1MC intercom. “General quarters! General quarters! Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations. I say again, this is not a drill.” She took a breath. “TAO, set condition one throughout the ship.”

The lights on the bridge turned blue and dimmed, allowing the computer screens to show the information they displayed more clearly. “Condition one set throughout the ship, Colonel. All battle stations manned and ready.”

“Conn, Navigation. Course plotted, and jump drives charged.”

“Navigation, engage Lawrence drive.”

The lights dimmed on the bridge dimmed even further as the wormhole generator created an artificial tunnel through the stars directly ahead of the Zvika Greengold. Blue, green, red, and purple radiated around the portal as it came into being. A few moments later, the vessel surged forward and slipped from one dimension of space and time into another.

6

Justin shifted his legs inside the cockpit of his Sabre. After a few hours at ready five, it became increasingly difficult to keep his feet from getting restless. Though he tried to focus on the combat ahead of him, Whatley’s words stung. Over and over, Justin had questioned why he joined the CDF and whether it was honorable to be there because he wanted to improve his life. I know I love my country too. He forced the thoughts out of his mind, remembering the words of a flight-combat instructor who’d once told him that any distraction in battle would prove fatal.

“I wonder why these guys had to come all the way from Earth to invade us,” Feldstein said on the commlink channel reserved for Alpha element.

Mateus answered her. “Who cares? The commies are back. We’ll fight them and send them running back to Earth with their tails between their legs.”

“How do we know they’re communists?” Justin asked, amused.

“Because freedom always triumphs over totalitarian rule.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Adeoye interjected. “Do you not remember we’re the ones whose ancestors fled their homes in unproven spaceships, endured great hardships, and eventually found a new home after a decade of searching?”

“Yeah, we all read the history books in school.” Mateus chortled. “Still, these guys are no match for the CDF.”

“We don’t know that,” Justin replied. “And no one had better get overconfident. I promise you that’ll get us all killed. Stay focused, watch your six, and remember our training.”

“Yes, sir,” Feldstein said before anyone else could speak. “I wonder how long we have to the engagement.”

“I’d wager the moment we drop out of Lawrence drive, we’ll launch,” Justin replied.

Almost on cue, he felt the carrier transition out of its wormhole and into normal space. Justin had been on enough ships to know the telltale signs of subtle changes in movement—the Zvika Greengold had its own “tell,” a high-pitched whine that went on for a moment as it snapped back into physical reality.

“Red Tails, scramble, scramble, scramble!” Whatley’s voice filled the commlink. “Hostile fighters fifty kilometers away.”

Justin flipped his commlink to the squadron frequency. “Alpha element, launch now!” He reached down and activated the electromagnetic catapult system, which hurled his fighter down the tube and into open space at a respectable velocity. A moment later, his HUD fully initialized and synched its sensor displays with the local tactical network. The Conqueror, labeled as Sierra One, loomed large on the map. Two League frigates maneuvered next to it, firing plasma cannons into the weakened battleship’s shields. Elsewhere on his display, red icons representing enemy fighter and bomber formations blinked into existence. “Alpha, I show a flight of six bombers on a direct intercept with Sierra One. Break and engage.”

The rest of the Red Tails squadron signaled their acknowledgment of his orders through the comms system, and the icon for each pilot turned green. Justin, meanwhile, focused on the rapidly approaching bombers. The idea that they were in a real shooting war hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Part of his mind still acted as if he were in a sim trainer. The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and he pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.” The anti-fighter active LIDAR-tracking weapon dropped from his internal storage bay, triggered its engine, and flew away, its speed increasing exponentially.

The League bombers scattered, some trying to avoid the incoming missiles and others turning toward Alpha, attempting to engage. Justin’s missile bobbed and weaved through chaff and spoofing decoys before it exploded against the shields of its target. Despite the direct hit, the bomber shrugged off the blow and kept coming.

Justin whipped his fighter around and settled directly behind his target. He held down the trigger for his miniature neutron beams, sending bolt after bolt of deadly blue energy into the shields of the hapless bomber. After eight direct hits, it exploded in a ball of orange-and-blue fire. “Alpha One, splash one.” As he spoke, Justin lined up the next enemy craft, only to see another Sabre slide in and open fire with its energy weapons and dumb-fire rockets. It only took a few seconds for the bomber’s shields to fail.

“Alpha Four, splash one,” Mateus called.

“Where’d you get the idea to use ground-attack rockets like that?” Justin asked. He was quite impressed with her ingenuity.

“These things can’t maneuver to save their lives, sir. I figured if I got close, I could shred them. The crew chief put a ground pod on. It looks like it checks out.”

Justin brought his Sabre behind yet another enemy bomber. “Good thinking, Mateus. Just next time, give me a heads-up, okay?”

“You got it, Lieutenant.”

Justin’s second score of the day exploded as he released the firing trigger on his neutron cannons and took a moment to maintain situational awareness on his HUD. Alpha had eliminated the League’s bomber element, and the two enemy escort vessels continued to engage with missiles and plasma cannons. A neutron beam erupted from the Zvika Greengold and impacted the nearest frigate’s shields. Why isn’t the Conqueror firing? She should make quick work of these ships. The battleship appeared to be disabled.

“Spencer, this is Whatley. Come in. Over.”

“I read you loud and clear, Major,” Justin replied.

“We’re about to launch a flight of bombers to engage the League frigates. I want Alpha to cover them as they approach. Think you can handle that?”

Justin bit back a nasty reply and instead focused on the task at hand. “Yes, sir. I’ll shift my element back toward the Greengold.”

“Good. CAG out.”

A cluster of four new blue icons appeared directly outside of the Greengold’s launch bay. Justin’s Sabre immediately IDed the craft as a flight of four Mauler bombers—Gamma element. He adjusted his flight path to meet up with them as they sped away from the carrier. “Alpha One to Gamma One. We’ll be serving as your escorts to tonight’s dance. Please join up with your partners and prepare to shoot our friends over there until they explode.”

“Mate, leave the jokes to the Aussies, okay? You sound like a bad kiwi over there trying to fake it,” Martin replied.

Laughter filled the commlink channel.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll remember that when you’re getting your arse shot off,” Justin snapped back.

“For the last time, use proper comms-traffic discipline, or I’ll ground you,” Whatley interjected.

“It’s called blowing off steam, mate. You ought to try it sometime before you blow yourself up with all this pent-up angst.”

More chortles sounded through the comms system. Justin couldn’t contain himself and burst out laughing.

“Lieutenant Martin, one more word, and I pull your wings,” Whatley ground out.

“Acknowledged, sir.”

Sliding into formation with the Maulers, Justin checked his HUD. Whatley is such a wet blanket. He had no time to think about his dislike for the CAG, however. Additional groups of red icons appeared on the sensor display, and they rapidly separated from the two frigates. Two elements had two fighters each. Alpha element was so close to the enemy vessels that there was barely enough time to line up before entering missile-lock-on range. As Justin waited for the tone to sound, twin blue neutron beams streaked in front of his cockpit canopy. The light momentarily blinded him, as at close range, it was intense. “Alpha One to all Alpha units. Watch out. The Greengold’s lighting up that frigate.”

At last, the lock-on tone buzzed. Justin immediately pressed the missile-launch button, an instinctive reaction primarily built on muscle memory. The Vulture dropped from his Sabre’s internal-stores bay and accelerated away. A few moments later, it hit home, exploding on the shields of the enemy craft. Justin then sent a barrage of blue neutron-cannon shots toward his foe, tracking the fighter movement for movement. It exploded in a ball of orange flame then was quickly extinguished by the vacuum of the void.

“Hey, Spencer,” Martin said. “There’s two point-defense turrets on the side of this bugger we’re attacking. Think your boys could take some heat off our missiles? I’d much rather they smack the side of that monstrosity than get blown up in space. Follow?”

“Makes sense to me. We’ll try to take out one of them for you,” Justin replied.

“Cheers, mate.”

“How about for every PD gun we take out, you get a round for Alpha?”

“Best suggestion I’ve heard out of you blokes all day. Cheerio.”

Justin clicked the commlink over to his element channel. “Alpha, break and engage, point-defense turrets on Master Two, port side. We’ll take the one closest to our bombers. Tactical sensor network shows its shields are down.”

“Wilco, Alpha One,” Feldstein replied.

As the four fighters pawed the vacuum, hurtling toward the enemy capital ship, Justin took a moment to check the status of his element. Stores were down twenty-five percent, and Mateus had hull damage. I’m going to have to remind her to be cautious. Flying blind at the enemy is a gamble. He pushed the thought down and focused on the gun-lead indicator while switching his active-missile weapon to the dumb-fire-rocket pod. The second the range gauge turned green, he held down the trigger, sending dozens of blue bolts at the turret.

Joined by the rest of Alpha element’s weapons, the fusillade was impressive. LIDAR-tracked missiles, dumb-fire rockets, and hundreds of neutron-cannon shots filled the void, and most struck home. Eventually it was too much, even for the tough armor of the turret. It blew apart into its constituent atoms. “That should even it up, Gamma.”

“Thanks, mates!” Martin replied. “Gamma One, fox one.”

Anti-ship missiles hurtled away from all four Mauler bombers, heading in straight-line trajectories toward the League frigate. The remaining PD emplacement on the vessel fired away, its red energy hammering at the darkness of space. But for all the ferociousness of the light show, it was an empty gesture. All four warheads hit the port side of the ship, and explosions spread outward from the impact site. After a few seconds, a colossal orange-and-blue wall of flame erupted from the frigate, and when it cleared, nothing was left except small debris.

“And another one bites the dust, mates!”

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed by friendly fast movers,” Bryan called. “All fighter elements continue to engage Master One.”

Tehrani stared at her tactical plot, noting the mass of blue icons as they rapidly shifted position around the remaining League vessel. Not a bad way to start a fight. She glanced at Wright. His face was bathed in blue light from the Zvika Greengold being at condition one. “So far, so good.”

“I feel it prudent to mention something about counting chickens before they hatch.”

“Touché, XO,” Tehrani replied. She shifted her focus toward Singh. “Communications, get me the Conqueror.”

“One moment, ma’am.” Singh turned his head slightly. “Coming through for you now on vidlink, Colonel.”

A human male appeared on the screen above the CO’s chair. He wore the same khaki service uniform the rest of them did, only his had the flag of the United States on the left shoulder. His face was smeared with soot, and blood caked his brown hair. A glance at the area behind him revealed a CIC in shambles—a collapsed overhead, with fire damaged and broken consoles littering the area. “Thanks for the assist,” he began, his voice gravelly. “Brigadier General Rubin at your service.”

“Colonel Tehrani. Pleased to meet you, General.” She flashed a small smile. “We’re maintaining control of the battle space as much as possible, but I wanted to see if you needed anything else to get your ship underway again.”

“Negative. My chief engineer indicates that he needs another ten to fifteen minutes to get the Lawrence drive back online, then we’ll jump into Canaan’s orbital-defense zone for further repairs.”

“We’ll hold them off,” Tehrani replied. “Any chance you can provide fire support from your big guns?” The Conqueror sported six triple-barreled turrets of four-hundred-millimeter magnetic cannons—the largest mounted by any CDF capital ship. Capable of flinging helicar-sized projectiles, they packed a serious punch.

“Sorry, Colonel. Every scrap of power we’ve got is needed for shields and the Lawrence drive.” Rubin gritted his teeth. “Help us get out of here, and I promise that before this battle is over, you’ll get to see what our weapons can do against these Leaguers.”

Leaguers? Heh. That might stick. “I’ll hold you to that, General. Good luck. We’ll hold the line.”

“Godspeed, Colonel. Rubin out.”

I haven’t heard anyone say Godspeed in a while. Tehrani briefly pondered the topic. During the First and Second Saurian Wars, Godspeed had been the rallying cry of the CDF. The word was thousands of years old and traditionally an exhortation for a pleasant journey. It had evolved to mean an appeal to God for help.

An old battle cry came to her. Fight the good fight, no matter the odds. Asking God for help wasn’t a new concept, as she was a Muslim who prayed several times a day to Allah. Though not the five times required of me. Perhaps I’ve been lax in my faith. But she had no time for further rumination as the battle continued.

“Conn, TAO. Master One neutralized… she’s drifting in space and launching escape pods.”

“Communications, send my compliments to Major Whatley and his wing on a job well done.”

Wright leaned in. “Don’t jinx us, skipper. I doubt that’s the last of whatever assets they’re throwing at the Conqueror and, by extension, us.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound wormholes.”

Tehrani’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for the next report. She gave Wright a wry grin. “I’ll remember that next time.”

“League signature confirmed, ma’am,” Bryan said. “One destroyer, one larger vessel classified as a heavy cruiser in tonnage. Designated Master Three and Four, respectively.”

Before Tehrani could issue orders, the League heavy cruiser opened up. Deceptively small visually, it packed a serious punch in both plasma cannons and what appeared to be beam-based energy weapons. Both streaked toward the Conqueror, lighting up its port shields. With no counterfire, the exchange was a decidedly one-sided affair.

“Conn, TAO.” Bryan cranked his head around. “Ma’am, Sierra One doesn’t have anywhere near full shield power. She can’t handle sustained bombardment.”

“Communications, order the next bomber element into space. Redirect all fast movers to Master Three,” Tehrani said. She glanced at Wright. “We’re not designed to go up against capital ships. Any bright ideas?”

“Pray.”

Tehrani didn’t reply as she focused on the tactical plot. Another group of blue icons appeared near the Zvika Greengold, labeled as Epsilon—Mauler medium bombers. Coupled with the remaining three bombers from Gamma element and the Sabre space-superiority fighters from Alpha flight, all eleven craft engaged Master Three as one. The dots resembled an angry cloud of bees, buzzing around a much larger foe. She felt momentary relief as several Javelin anti-ship missiles slammed into the enemy’s deflectors, and they dropped like a stone.

“Conn, Communications. General Rubin reports that their shields are under twenty percent, and the Conqueror is taking further hull damage.”

“TAO, firing point procedures. Target Master Three with our forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solution locked, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, neutron beams.”

The Zvika Greengold struck at the League heavy cruiser with both its forward beams, and the thin blue spears of energy impacted the enemy shields with a red displacement effect visible through the transparent alloy windows at the front of the bridge. Tehrani glanced at the tactical plot. The result was negligible. Almost immediately, the Leaguer capital vessel switched its target. Dozens of red plasma balls arced through space and connected with the carrier’s shields.

“Conn, TAO… forward shield arc taking increasing strain. Wait, aspect change, Master Three. They’ve launched a squadron of fighters.” Bryan glanced back at the CO and XO chairs. “Direct intercept on our bomber elements, ma’am.”

“Communications, order the air boss to launch the next Sabre element—Beta.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Wright leaned in and whispered into Tehrani’s ear, “We could put everything in space. Probably end this quickly.”

She shook her head. “I thought about it, but given the time it takes to rearm and refuel, we’d get caught with our pants down if something else happened or we’re needed elsewhere in the Canaan system. No, we have to stick to the minimum amount of assets to win.”

“Got it, skipper.”

While the reasoning made sense, it pained Tehrani to her core that she was asking her pilots to do so much with so little. Better get used to that feeling, if this turns into a war. The next thought through her mind was they were already at war, and she would have to come to grips with it.

* * *

“You got the target-rich environment you were hoping for, Mateus,” Justin said through gritted teeth as he matched maneuvers with a League fighter directly in front of him. The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and he pressed the button to fire a heat-seeking “fire and forget” missile. “Alpha One, fox two.” At the same time, he squeezed the flight-stick-integrated trigger for his miniature neutron beams and repeatedly sent their deadly energy into the aft shields of his target. Between that and the missile, the enemy craft exploded brightly in the darkness of space. “Alpha One, splash one.”

“We’re getting to be pros at this,” Feldstein remarked.

“Hey, mates, I could use some help over here,” Lieutenant Martin cut in. “I’ve got two of these cheeky League buggers on my tail, and they won’t piss off!”

“Alpha Two, with me,” Justin replied. “Hang on, Gamma One. We’re coming.”

“Yeah, trying to, mate.”

Justin glanced at his HUD. The tactical picture was muddled, with dozens of icons overlapping one another. He thought back to the training simulations they’d run through. Always four on four. They were nothing like actual combat. As his Sabre rocketed across space, League plasma balls and Terran Coalition neutron beams crisscrossed the area, their glow eerie and beautiful at the same time.

“Any day this week, mates!”

While Martin’s commlink calls were cheerful and even funny on some level, time was running out. The icon representing his Mauler bomber flashed red, showing it was taking hull damage. Justin toggled his afterburner and cued the commlink. “Alpha Two, push it up. We’ve got to close the range pronto.”

“Wilco, sir.”

The Sabre accelerated, and the g-forces pushed Justin firmly back in his seat to the point that he saw stars. Just as he reached the limit of human endurance, the missile-lock-on tone sounded. Justin throttled back and pressed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.” An active LIDAR-guided warhead dropped out of his craft and hurtled off toward the target. He watched as it tracked the enemy movement for movement and finally exploded against the shields of the League fighter.

Before Justin could line up to finish the fighter off with his miniature neutron cannons, another missile streaked in and blew up the target.

“Beta element engaged,” another pilot practically shouted through the commlink.

“Nice shooting,” Justin remarked. He let out a breath as the mental pressure of combat abated momentarily.

A fresh group of four Sabres raced into the fray. League craft dropped like flies as they exploited tactical surprise, as one downside of a quick-turning tail chase was that the pilots involved lost overall situational awareness. While the dust settled, Justin reexamined his HUD, which was mostly clear of hostile fighters and bombers. The Leaguer heavy cruiser continued to fire on both friendly capital ships, as did the destroyer. The enemy frigate, though below fifty percent hull integrity, was still combat-capable and added its weapons to the mix.

“Hey. Mates. Yeah, I’m talking to you over in the short little ugly fighters. How about some cover fire while we engage this cruiser,” Martin said. “Half my bombers have holes in ’em, and these buggers seem to have unlimited energy to shoot at us.”

“Alpha, form up and assist me in covering Gamma and Epsilon elements,” Justin said before he switched the commlink channel back to squadron command. “Martin, we’ll engage their point-defense turrets as much as possible now that you’ve got the cruiser’s shields down.”

“Thanks, mate. Time to finish these wankers off!”

Still smirking, Justin turned his craft toward Master Three. The dark void of space seemed to glow as dozens of the suddenly ubiquitous red plasma balls flashed by his Sabre, but he stayed the course. Juking slightly to make his fighter harder to hit, Justin maintained a laser-like focus on his target—an anti-small-craft point-defense weapon belching death out of its barrel. Space usually isn’t this crowded. Before the previous day, he’d never seen more than a squadron in space at any point in time.

Justin squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, sending dozens of blasts from the miniature neutron cannon on his fighter into the turret. Twisting the stick from side to side, he avoided most of the incoming fire. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed, and he loosed a LIDAR-tracking warhead at the offending turret, while Feldstein and Adeoye added their own neutron cannons and missile fire to the fusillade. At the last possible second, Justin pulled up and hit his afterburner. He was rewarded with the League point defense turret exploding as one of the anti-fighter Vultures hit it.

“Thanks, mates. That opened up a hole in their PD coverage,” Martin said. “We’ve got a special delivery for them to take advantage of it.”

As Justin looped his Sabre around after gaining distance on the heavy cruiser, he was treated to a sight he’d never seen before. The four Maulers, led by Lieutenant Martin, lined up on an attack run toward Master Three. In perfect formation, the bombers loosed one anti-ship Javelin missile each and veered off. With little point-defense fire coming from the League vessel, all four struck home. The heavy cruiser’s shields glowed red, and the HUD showed a twenty percent drop in shield strength.

“Nice shooting, Epsilon.”

“Yeah, that’ll teach those wankers not to mess with us. Care to join us for another pass, Alpha?”

“You got it, Lieutenant.” It seemed as if they might pull it off after all.

“Spencer! Quit hotdogging and pay attention to your HUD.” Whatley’s harsh rebuke came through the commlink loud and clear.

“Sir—”

“Another flight of enemy fighters is inbound. Break and engage.”

“Roger. Wilco,” Justin ground out. “Alpha, form on me.” He adjusted his HUD’s sensor radius outward and realized Whatley was right. As usual. Red icons representing six of the League space-superiority fighters raced toward the friendly bomber formation. How many fighters do they have to fling at us, anyway? Justin deftly adjusted his flight stick, pointing the Sabre in the enemy’s direction.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Master Three shields have failed on their port quarter.”

Tehrani sucked in a breath. Localized shield failures had resulted in several hull breaches and damage across the Zvika Greengold’s superstructure. The old girl’s hanging in there, regardless. She gripped her chair’s hand rests. “TAO, direct all bombers to Master Three’s port quarter.”

The tactical plot was a jumbled mess. Groups of red and blue icons denoting small craft were layered on top of one another. That led to a loss of situational awareness and made it increasingly difficult to issue orders beyond generic requests to attack a specific target. Blue light from the overhead bathed Tehrani’s monitor as she pondered what to do next. The bridge shook as more plasma-cannon fire from the enemy smacked into them.

“Navigation, come about to heading zero-three-eight, mark positive five. All ahead flank.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Three, forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

Seconds turned into a minute as the carrier adjusted its heading and brought its forward arc into range of the League heavy cruiser’s port quarter. The moment Tehrani saw they’d made it, she grinned fiercely. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Bright-blue beams of energy erupted out of the Zvika Greengold, slashing at her foe. The thermal heat of the weapon burned and melted the outer armor of the League vessel. While the display was impressive, the enemy’s armor held. Another wave of red plasma balls raced toward the Greengold, splashing red energy on the already-weak shields.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound wormhole.” Bryan’s voice held a note of fear.

Tehrani felt it too. The addition of any more enemy warships would probably tilt the battle out of their reach. “Report, Lieutenant.”

“CDF signature, ma’am.” Bryan exhaled quietly. “CSV Marcus Luttrell on station. Designated as Sierra Two.”

Tehrani felt some of the fear abate. “Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington. TAO, designate Master Three as the priority target for the battle group.” Please, Allah, let the rest of our ships get here soon.

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied quickly.

Almost immediately, the Marcus Luttrell turned, and her weapons suite lashed out at the large League cruiser. Magnetic cannon turrets, neutron beams, and missile cells all unleashed their fury at the enemy. While in a head-to-head fight, the destroyer would be outmatched. With the other vessel’s shields down, it evened out.

Faced with three targets, the cruiser split its fire between the Luttrell and the Greengold while seeming to forget the Conqueror existed.

Friendly bombers and fighters added streams of miniature neutron-cannon fire along with antiship missiles. The concentrated effect of the various munitions’ slamming into the heavy cruiser at the same time was pronounced. Pieces of armor blasted off, followed by significant secondary explosions that blew chunks of hull into the depths of the void. Finally, something vital was hit—either a reactor, a warhead magazine, or a shuttle bay—and the League vessel exploded into two-foot pieces.

Spontaneous, wild cheering broke out on the bridge as younger soldiers and a few officers clapped. It only took a few seconds for a grizzled senior chief to yell, “As you were! Maintain proper bridge protocol!”

Tehrani suppressed a smile. I suppose the youngsters have earned it. She turned her attention back to the tactical plot. A frigate and a destroyer remained. They maneuvered about and continued to fire on the Conqueror. They’re persistent, if nothing else.

“Conn, TAO,” Bryan called. “Sierra One is powering up its weapons.”

While the volume of fire from the Zvika Greengold’s small craft and the Marcus Luttrell was impressive, it was nothing compared to what the Conqueror could hurl into the fight. Helicar-sized shells weighing over a thousand kilograms raced out of her magnetic cannons, while half a dozen blue neutron beams raked the enemy warships. The frigate exploded outright under the barrage, barely leaving enough debris to scan. The remaining League destroyer merely suffered its engine housings being sheared off by the powerful Terran Coalition energy weapons. Its running lights dimmed, and the crippled wreck tumbled in space.

“Wow.” Wright let out a short whistle. “That’s some serious firepower.”

Tehrani nodded. “I’ve never seen a battleship fire its primary armament before. Glad they’re on our side.”

“Conn, Communications. I have General Rubin for you, ma’am,” Singh interjected.

“Put him on my monitor, Lieutenant.”

The familiar face of Rubin appeared on the monitor above Tehrani’s head. He wore a fierce warrior’s grin. “Colonel, please pass on my gratitude to your pilots and crew. We wouldn’t have survived without their courage and sacrifice.”

Two pilots lost to save a battleship. Briefly, Tehrani considered the cost. Logically, losing two souls to save thousands was a win. But it was still two families who wouldn’t see their loved ones again. She’d never had to write a letter of condolence to someone who died under her command. That makes three in the last twenty-four hours, and Allah only knows how many more. While sadness crept into her mind, she pushed all emotion down. There will be time to grieve after the battle. “Thank you, General. Likewise, your ship ended the battle with an exclamation point. I’m in your debt.”

Rubin shook his head. “Just wait till we get the Conqueror fully operational again.” He narrowed his eyes. “She’ll blast every League warship between here and Canaan to bits.” Something off screen distracted him for a moment, then he turned back to the camera. “Our Lawrence drive is charged. Good hunting and Godspeed, Colonel. Rubin out.”

The screen went black, and a few moments later, the massive battleship opened a wormhole through the stars. The physical manifestation of the tunnel was a kaleidoscope of colors, seeming to erupt from space. As the event horizon opened, the Conqueror engaged her sublight engines and glided through. In the space of just a few seconds, the vessel disappeared from normal space with no trace of its existence remaining.

“Conn, TAO. All hostile fighters are down. No enemy contacts remain.” Bryan turned around in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. “Shall I order search and rescue deployed, ma’am?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied. “Deploy S and R, but maintain combat space patrol.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“XO, compile a complete damage report in the next ten minutes,” Tehrani said as she stared out of the windows.

“You’ll have it in five,” Wright replied, glancing up from his tablet. “Mercifully light.”

Tehrani pursed her lips and tried to calm her brain, which seemed to be running at a few thousand kilometers per hour. She reflected on their performance. The Zvika Greengold had been named after an Israeli soldier from twentieth-century Earth. He’d taken on an entire enemy armored division with a single tank—and won. God must’ve stood with him. As He did with us today. It crossed her mind that she’d better honor the adhan—the call to prayer—this day, above all days. The thought passed as damage reports came in, and the business of running the ship continued.

About an hour later, Bryan interrupted her mental reverie. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound wormholes, ma’am.” He paused for a moment. “CDF signature. It’s the rest of our escorts. Two Argyle-class frigates designated Sierra Three and Four.” The CSV Glasgow and the CSV Sheffield rounded out their battlegroup. Mostly geared toward point defense, Argyle-class frigates carried missile cells and neutron beam emitters but lacked magnetic cannon turrets.

“Is search and rescue done yet, Lieutenant?” Tehrani asked.

“Yes, ma’am. They’re pulling back now,” Bryan replied.

“Pull in our bombers and all but four fighters for CSP. I want everything we’ve got ready to get back into space as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wright said as he went back to work.

Through the windows, Tehrani watched as the dozen small craft they had in space came in for landings on the flight deck. The sight always inspired and awed her. She waited for what the day had in store for them next.

7

The flight deck seemed to rush to meet the landing gear of Justin’s Sabre as he brought the craft into the expansive hangar. He settled directly on top of the massive CVE-73 stenciled into the flight deck, one perk associated with commanding the lead element in the Red Tails. Probably the only one. After toggling off the engines, flatlining his craft’s miniature fusion reactor, and triple-checking the safeties on the remaining weapons in his fighter’s munitions bay, Justin popped the cockpit canopy.

An automated ladder rolled up and locked itself onto the canopy lip, and Justin climbed down quickly.

“More hull damage, I see,” a crew chief wearing a brown helmet called as she walked over. “Would you quit getting my planes shot up, Lieutenant?”

“Hey, tell that to the bad guys. They won’t leave me alone,” Justin replied with a snicker.

“How many did you bag this time?”

“Several. A few were assists.” He shrugged. “I’m not really keeping score.”

“Why not? You need to paint kill marks on your fuselage. Ace status is well-earned and something to be proud of.”

Justin shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

A commotion across the flight deck interrupted the conversation. Whatley’s voice carried as he stood screaming at a man who also had a brown helmet. “Senior Chief, I don’t care what your excuse is. I want these birds refueled, rearmed, and ready for combat in one hour. Do you get me?”

The older man stood stoically with his arms crossed. “Major, there’s what you want, then there’s reality. We’re on a training cruise. Most of my flight-operations personnel are brand new. We’re going as fast as we can.”

“Then get the rest of your crew complement in here and double up on maintenance operations!” Whatley thundered.

Groups of pilots and enlisted personnel stopped to watch the spectacle. Getting to see a senior NCO and the air group commander rip each other a new one in public wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

“They’ll fall over each other trying to move equipment, Major. The last thing we want is someone to drop a live warhead on the deck.”

“Stop. Making. Excuses. Get the off-duty personnel up here and get to work.” When the NCO didn’t move, he bellowed, “That’s an order!”

Justin stared in amazement at the display from Whatley. I suppose he’s an equal-opportunity ass kicker. Practically everyone on the flight deck had dropped whatever task they were doing.

“Yes, sir,” the senior chief ground out before turning on his heel and walking off.

“What the hell are you staring at, Spencer?” Whatley shouted as Justin entered his line of sight. “Don’t just stand there. Get your ass in gear and make ready to fly again!”

Without thinking, Justin snapped off a jaunty salute. “Anything you say, sir!”

“Oh, hell no.” Whatley tore across the flight deck like a man possessed. “Drop down and give me twenty-five pushups, Lieutenant.”

“This isn’t boot camp, sir.” Justin crossed his arms in front of his chest. Anger surged through him as he gritted his teeth. I’m through taking guff off this guy.

“Get down on my deck and give me twenty-five pushups, or I’ll have you confined to the brig, dobber.”

Justin bristled at the use of the derogatory term. Wow, this guy has some gall. I’ve probably got the highest kill count in the entire CDF right now. For a second or two, he thought about punching Whatley in the jaw. But he brought that emotion quickly under control and dropped to the alloy deck. “One, two, three, four,” he called. “I love the Coalition Defense Force!” The cadence from boot camp was an old memory. After twenty-five pushups that got progressively more painful, he stood.

“Well, look at that. Dobber still remembers basic PT. Now, get cleaned up and return to your ready room. That goes for everyone here! Move it!” Whatley screamed.

As Justin made his way off the flight deck, Feldstein came up behind him. “You don’t have to take that crap from him,” she whispered. “Put in a report with Major Wright.”

“No. I won’t be that guy. Whatley thinks I can’t cut it, fine. I’ll show him I can.”

Feldstein nodded. “I respect that, but if it gets out of hand…”

“If it gets out of hand, I’ll challenge him to a one-on-one and kick his ass in a simulator.”

“I’ll pay real credits to see that,” Feldstein replied. She squeezed Justin’s shoulder. “How about some food? I’m famished.”

“Deal. Shower first, though. I think my suit’s cooling unit gave out. I sweated out practically my entire water supply during the last thirty minutes in space.”

“Roger that, sir. See you in a few.”

Justin stalked off, trying to clear the jumble of emotions in his head. Surprised he was still alive on the one hand and pissed off that his commanding officer couldn’t accept that he was doing his best on the other, he forced himself to calm down. Calm, cool, and collected, Dad always said. He was convinced it was the only thing that would see him through the next battle.

* * *

Presidential Center

Canaan

28 September 2433

The Presidential Center, home of the executive branch of government for the Terran Coalition and known commonly as the White House, was a beehive of activity. Only twenty-four hours earlier, President Jason Nolan had been a year into his first term in office, dealing with seemingly mundane tasks like sorting through the domestic budget while fighting with the Senate and Assembly. He felt like he’d aged ten years in those twenty-four hours. They all say the job ages you. How true it is.

Six hours ago, the League of Sol fleet had entered Canaan system proper. No response to any of our communication attempts. Random attacks throughout the solar system. Nolan was still numb, trying to process a sneak attack from Earth. I would never have thought other humans would be the greatest threat the Terran Coalition had ever seen.

Every hour, another briefing from the military came. He steeled himself as a member of his protective-service detail pushed the door open to the state-of-the-art command-and-control bunker at the base of the building, fifteen floors down.

“Mr. President, welcome, sir,” Abdul Karimi called. An older man, he had streaks of gray hair, at least where his scalp wasn’t bald. Dressed in a sharp gray suit, Karimi was Nolan’s handpicked Chief of Staff. They had known each other for decades.

Everyone in uniform stopped what they were doing and came to attention, while the civilians stood respectfully.

“Please, return to your duties,” Nolan said. He took a few steps and dropped into his seat at the head of the conference table, which was surrounded by holoprojectors and gigantic screens. “Any major updates?”

“We’ve got General Irvine ready to join, sir. She has some insights on the enemy’s tactical operations,” Karimi answered. He gestured at a corporal who was manning a computer station.

A few moments later, a screen came to life with a vidlink, which was clearly being transmitted from a CDF capital ship. An expansive bridge and a CIC area were in full view, but in the center of the screen was General Gabrielle Irvine. She wore a khaki service uniform with an array of campaign ribbons, and the four stars of her rank insignia denoted her as a top-ranking general. “Mr. President,” she began as the camera captured her glancing between different people with her piercing green eyes. “I have a brief update, sir.”

“By all means, General.” We pin our hopes on whatever genius strategy this woman can bring forth. He was thankful that Irvine’s strategic acumen was revered. She’d been the architect of several anti-piracy campaigns and stared down the Jalm’tar Confederation during several cross-border raids.

“Mostly, the League forces haven’t engaged. They’re sitting there.”

Nolan furrowed his brow. “I’m not a military man, General… but that seems odd, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not what I’d be doing. That’s for sure, sir.” Irvine cleared her throat. “But whatever the reason, it’s giving us time to get our reserve fleet in formation, and every hour we get is one more for our nation-state militaries to arrive.”

As it was a supranational entity, the Terran Coalition’s constituent planets had their own military forces for self-defense. After decades of peace, many of the large nations, including the United States and Great Britain, had retaken control of their vessels a little over eight years prior. It seemed to Nolan that the decision had been in error. Hindsight—always twenty-twenty.

“I’m assured that everything, aside from token forces for home defense, is on its way to Canaan.” He paused for a moment, thinking over what she’d said. “I take it from your turn of phrase that there has been combat in Canaan system proper?”

“Yes, Mr. President. Small actions. They’ve hit a couple of fuel refineries in orbit around our gas giant. I would categorize those attacks as probes. They’re attempting to gain information on our capabilities while inflicting damage.”

“Are we responding?”

“Only if it’s critical infrastructure. The fleet can’t afford to be caught out of position or take losses. As it was, the CSV Conqueror was almost destroyed an hour ago. Luckily for us, a reserve escort carrier—the Zvika Greengold—responded in time, and she escaped.”

Nolan put his hands on the table and stared into Irvine’s eyes—as much as he could through a screen. “General, in your professional opinion, what are our chances?”

“Are you a religious man, Mr. President?”

“I am.”

“Then I’d pray hard to God. Because we will do our best, and I believe wholeheartedly that every man and woman in the CDF will do their duty and then some. But we need those reinforcements. Period.”

In other words: not good. Nolan nodded. “Thank you, General. Is there anything else we can do for you right now?”

“No, sir.”

“I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you, sir. Godspeed, sir.” Irvine stood from her chair and saluted.

“Good luck, General.”

The screen went black as the connection was severed.

Karimi said, “Sir, I still recommend we get you to a safe location.”

“We’re asking nearly every soldier in the Terran Coalition to come here and put their lives on the line to defend Canaan,” Nolan began quietly. “I will not be the coward that cuts and runs. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have we completed the militia call-up?” Nolan rubbed his right eye. “If the fleet fails, that will be our last line of defense.”

“The last time I checked with the Department of Home World Defense, every available member was mustering along with police and first-responder units planetwide,” Karimi replied. “There’s not much else to do now except wait for the inevitable attack. Unless those reinforcements arrive first… General Irvine plans to attack if that occurs.”

Nolan stood. “All right. I’ll be in the Oval. See you in fifty minutes.”

Karimi sprang to his feet along with the rest of those in the bunker. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

A tradition since the naval sailing ships of ancient times was for the commanding officer of a vessel to have quarters near the bridge. CDF warships were no different—with a small day cabin comprising a part-time office directly aft of the command center and a pull-out rack for sleeping. While Tehrani had an expansive suite assigned to her in officers’ country, she’d spent every waking and sleeping moment in the last twenty-four hours either in the CO’s chair or in her day cabin.

The hatch chime sounded.

“Come in,” Tehrani called.

Wright appeared as the hatch swung open. Major Whatley was close behind him. Both men came in and braced to attention.

“Major Wright reports as ordered, ma’am.”

“As you were, gentlemen. Please have a seat.” She gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk and a small plate of sandwiches on it. “I thought we could use some quick refreshments while we discuss operational readiness.”

Both men sat, and Wright cleared his throat. “Thank you, skipper. Can’t remember the last time I ate.” He grabbed a sandwich and bit into it with gusto.

Whatley shook his head. “I had a ration bar, ma’am. I’ve found over the years that trying to fly a space-superiority fighter on a full stomach isn’t a good idea.” He cracked a smile. “Especially since I threw up in my helmet once during a training run. That’s a lesson one never forgets.”

“How are our repairs coming?” Tehrani asked.

“Shield generators are back to one hundred percent. Flight-operation control is still reporting some issues with one catapult, but all in all, we’re in fighting shape. Engineering teams set up portable structural-reinforcement generators in areas with hull damage… but the old girl’s going to need yard time once this is over.”

“The bigger problem is pilot fatigue and inexperience in our flight crews at generating sorties.” Whatley crossed his arms. “It’s been a long time since the Coalition Defense Force fought an actual war. Well, that’s coming back to bite us. These kids are used to refueling and rearming the small craft once in a day, maybe twice on a grueling training mission. Operational tempo now? I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up needing every fighter on the Greengold to run four sorties a day.”

The concern raised by Whatley dovetailed into her fears regarding the Zvika Greengold’s readiness. We’ll push the raw youngsters, but we all have to be careful not to push them so hard that they fail. She set her jaw. “Options, CAG?”

“We push our crew as far as possible without breaking them.” Whatley smirked. “Nothing like some on-the-job training. I already tuned up the senior crew chiefs. I told them I want every bird on this ship ready to fly within two hours.” He glanced at Wright. “If they can do it in four, I’ll be happy.”

Both Wright and Tehrani laughed.

“I’m glad I’m not in your space aviation division, Major,” Wright said between chuckles. His expression turned serious. “What about pilot fatigue? I’d think sending out tired men and women when lightning-fast reflexes are needed would cause… shall we say, additional casualties?”

“True pilots feed off the energy of flying through the vacuum and searching for targets,” Whatley said matter-of-factly. “Anyone who doesn’t shouldn’t be in the cockpit.”

Tehrani’s eyes flicked to Whatley. “That’s harsh, Major.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But true, ma’am. My point is that we’re going to suffer losses. This is war. You should get ready for it.”

For a moment, Tehrani considered arguing with him, but she decided against it. She saw little point in stoking a debate in which they disagreed on the eve of what would bring more battles. So she nodded instead. “I remain hopeful that there will be a diplomatic solution to this once the CDF prevails in its defense of Canaan.” Her eyes went down to her desk. “But I realize that’s unlikely. Far more likely that we’ll be engaged in a multiyear conflict, not unlike the last Saurian War.”

“Is there anything the doctor can do for keeping pilots awake?” Wright asked.

“No stims,” Whatley immediately countered, his voice slightly raised. “I will not have my people amped up on stims and zoned out of their minds. Clear?”

Wright raised his palms. “No offense meant, CAG.”

“Sorry, XO. I’ve seen too many pilots die because they were on something they shouldn’t have been. The human body needs its rest, and we must stagger our rotation schedules. If the conflict sustains, once we bring more pilots aboard, that’ll solve the problem. Until then, we have to make do.”

“Which means we continue to use the least force possible.” Tehrani frowned. She hated not sending overwhelming force. “I’d like to remind you both of Lancaster’s Law.”

Both men stared at her quizzically.

“I don’t follow, ma’am,” Wright said finally.

“Boiled down, the stronger the friendly force when compared to the enemy, the fewer losses taken. Allowing the League nearly equal numbers engagements flies in the face of military theory and strategy.”

“Perhaps, but it allows us to continue to fight,” Whatley replied. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Colonel. Maybe once our deck crews learn how to generate sorties quicker, we can dispense with these tactics.”

Tehrani inclined her head. “I hope so, CAG.”

“We should talk stores and consumable munitions. Anti-ship and anti-fighter missiles, especially the LIDAR-tracking variety, are running low.”

As Whatley spoke, Tehrani felt as if his eyes were boring into her. The CAG’s gaze was so piercing that she glanced away for a moment. That man only has one setting: intense. “XO, put in a request for resupply… but, Major, I wouldn’t expect to see it before our next battle. Try to conserve any way possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Whatley crossed his arms. He apparently didn’t like her answer.

Before anyone could speak further, the intercom went off. “Colonel, I’ve got flash traffic for you,” came the voice of Lieutenant Singh. “Straight from General Irvine.”

“Put it through to my monitor.”

A moment later, a text message appeared on her tablet device. Tehrani skimmed it, and her jaw dropped. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this later. We just received orders to intercept a League squadron attacking Canaan’s primary shipyard installation at the moon Goshen.”

Whatley let out a sigh as he stood. “Any reinforcements?”

“No. Just our battlegroup.”

“God help us all.”

Tehrani couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. While she wanted to make the trip down to the ship’s chapel to pray, instead, she stood and led the way back to the bridge. A portion of her still struggled with the situation. Thoughts of missing her husband coupled with fear for her extended family raced through her mind. Still, duty was duty. My job as a soldier is to protect the Terran Coalition. If I do my job as well as everyone else, we’ll all be fine. The idea kept her going.

* * *

“Would you pass the salt?”

Justin opened his eyes to see Feldstein gazing at him. Alpha element had gone as a group to the nearest officers’ mess for some food while the hangar teams refueled and rearmed their craft. He shook his head as if that would clear the exhaustion in every facet of his being. “Uh, sure.” He closed his hand around the shaker and passed it to her.

“Are you okay?” Mateus asked. She set her fork down. “Kind of looked like you were a million light-years away, Lieutenant.”

Everything within Justin wanted to scream. No, I’m not okay! The concept of fighting a real shooting war was something he still couldn’t wrap his brain around. Service for him was a vehicle to a better life. But that’s the deal I made. Guilt clawed at the recesses of his mind. But that doesn’t mean I’m not good at this and not doing my duty. He forced the emotion down, covering it instead with what he hoped passed for a calm, cool, and collected expression. “Yeah. Just tired.” He chuckled. “How many flight hours have we logged in the last two days?”

“Enough to keep our certifications up for the next two years,” Adeoye deadpanned. “This should mean we don’t have to do our two weeks next year.”

The four of them laughed.

“I think you qualified as a double ace,” Mateus continued, a hint of deviousness in her voice. “Keep this up, and they’ll make you go active duty and teach cadets how to fly.”

“I don’t think we’re going home anytime soon.” Justin’s plate contained the remnants of a Salisbury steak along with a serving of mashed potatoes and green beans. He took a bite of the nearly cold potatoes. “I mean, let’s get real.”

Feldstein dumped salt onto her Salisbury steak. “I haven’t been able to reach Robert.”

Mateus tilted her head quizzically. “You said you were divorcing him when we trained together last year.”

“We got counseling instead.”

“Ah.” Mateus smirked. “I’m too passionate to be tied down to a man right now. I want to see the galaxy first. Then maybe settle down.” She took a sip of water. “Maybe. I’ve never felt more alive than I do when we’re out there flying our fighters and riding the tip of the spear into the throat of the enemy.”

“Are you sure you passed the psych evals required to join the CDF?” Justin asked. His lips curled up in a smile despite his attempt to deliver the barb entirely straight-faced.

“Ha-ha.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“At least she’s on our side,” Adeoye interjected.

“Any idea what’s next, sir?” Feldstein asked. “I heard some scuttlebutt that we’d join the main fleet shortly.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Justin said as he shrugged, then he put his hands on either side of his face and rubbed it, letting out a yawn. “I’d do just about anything for a few hours of sleep.”

“We sleep when we’re dead,” Mateus replied. “Did you guys catch President Nolan’s speech?”

“All I heard was blah blah blah, defeat the League of Sol, blah blah blah.” Feldstein took another bite of her food. “I didn’t vote for him, before anyone asks.”

“No politics,” Justin warned. “Not now.”

The four of them exchanged glances.

Adeoye set his fork down. “Politics will be set aside. I am confident of this,” he stated. “This event will be the defining moment of our lives. We’ll all remember how the four of us rose to the occasion.”

Justin couldn’t argue with that. He briefly ruminated on the idea that every generation seemed to have something that set it apart from the others—the Saurian Wars, the Exodus from Earth, and the Diaspora, in which the various nation-states had set out to colonize their own planets in the local sector. This is our challenge. My challenge. “Agreed.” He took a sip of his iced tea. “You should all get as much rest as possible. God only knows when we’ll be going back out to fight.”

Feldstein set her fork down on the table and the napkin in her lap. “I’m going to head down to the shul.” The Zvika Greengold had several worship areas, including a Jewish shul, a Christian church, and a mosque for the Muslims aboard.

“Why?” Mateus asked.

“To pray.”

“Ah.”

“It seems like a good time to ask God for help.” Feldstein shrugged. “I’ll confess I’m usually lax about going to the shul. But…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Justin interjected. “Can’t hurt.” He flashed a grin. “I’m going to head back to my stateroom and lie down. Hoping to get an hour of shuteye.”

As they all stood, the alarm klaxon sounded, and a voice boomed through the ship’s intercom. “Attention all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters! General quarters! Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill.”

“So much for the best-laid plans.” Mateus wiggled her eyebrows. “I suppose we’ll be heading down to the ready room now?”

Justin closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to focus. “Yup. Let’s go get suited up.”

“No rest for the weary,” Adeoye said.

The group walked out and made its way down the passageways of the Zvika Greengold. All the while, Justin thought about the last twenty-four hours, including the loss of three of their people and the enemy craft he’d destroyed. And those I’ve killed. There was no escaping it. He longed to hear his wife’s voice and see his daughter. He took solace in hoping that if he survived, he would see them after the battle.

8

Justin and his pilots donned their flight suits in record time—less than five minutes for the entire group to get their softsuits on and complete a pressure check with helmets attached. In the event of decompression, the suit kept its wearer alive until rescue and had a built-in homing beacon to aid recovery.

When they strode into the Red Tails squadron ready room, Major Whatley was waiting. The group stood at attention as one.

“As you were,” Whatley said in his gravelly voice. “I’ll make this brief.” He touched a button on the controller tablet, and the holoprojector morphed into an image of a large shipyard complex. “Our communist-bastard friends are attacking an installation that has twenty percent of our drydock space. We have one objective: stop them at any cost.”

“Sir, do we have projections for what we’ll be facing?” Justin asked.

Whatley turned and glowered at him. “Multiple destroyers with a space-superiority fighter escort. We should expect more. Capital ships, bombers… you name it. This is a priority target for them.”

“If it’s such a priority target, why not send a fleet?” Feldstein asked from one row behind Justin. “It seems silly to send in just a few destroyers.”

“Would you like me to contact the League fleet commander and ask him for you, Lieutenant?” Whatley asked mockingly. “Maybe I could get him on a vidlink so you could talk to him. How about that?”

Feldstein turned bright red. “I’m sorry sir. It just makes little sense—”

“Lieutenant, it doesn’t matter whether the enemy makes sense to us or not. They simply are. We don’t ask why. We show up and kill them. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied crisply.

“Good. Moving on. A flight of four Mauler bombers will launch with you—Epsilon element. Alpha will engage targets of opportunity, provide close escort, and eradicate the enemy presence. Questions?”

“When do we launch?” Justin asked.

“The Greengold is spinning up her Lawrence drive now. You launch the moment we clear the wormhole. Man your craft!”

Pilots sprang up from their chairs and headed quickly toward the exit. Justin, however, stayed behind. He marched up to Whatley. “Major, permission to speak freely.”

“Oh, this oughta be good. Did I offend you, Spencer? Care for a hurt-feelings form to fill out?” Whatley’s lips curled into a smirk.

Justin’s heart beat faster, and his face grew warm. He’s just pushing my buttons. Determined not to give the man the pleasure of an emotional response, Justin set his jaw instead. “Major, with all due respect, I am the commanding officer of Alpha element and the Red Tails squadron. You will not discipline one of my pilots outside of the chain of command or shame them publicly. If you have an issue with one of my pilots, it goes through me.” He gulped. “Sir.”

Silence descended across the ready room. Whatley stared at him, his brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought or perhaps surprise. “That sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a backbone, Lieutenant.” He pursed his lips. “Okay. Done, dobber. I’ll just come down on you twice as hard.”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a war to fight.” Justin turned on his heel and marched off. That felt good. Really good.

Whatley gave no response, for once.

* * *

For the third time in a day, blue light bathed the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. A dozen additional enlisted personnel stood watch. Battle stations were manned and ready across the vessel.

Tehrani was adjusting to the new normal of combat every few hours. While she still felt a rush of adrenaline, it wasn’t the same as it had been the last time. Am I getting used to it? She briefly recalled taking part in the Valiant Shield exercises, but they didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

The other major difference was that simulated losses in a fleet exercise held no emotional weight. Everyone went home to their families, and the absence of friends and colleagues in the mess wasn’t an ever-present reminder of the cost of war. How does one get used to that?

“All systems ready, ma’am,” Wright said. “Damage-control parties standing by, and our fighters are ready to launch.”

“Good,” Tehrani replied as she nodded. “Give us another week. We’ll be veterans.”

Wright snorted. “If we’re still alive.”

“Touché.”

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called. “Ready to jump at your command.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “TAO, weapons and shields status?”

“Shields fully charged. Energy-weapons capacitor at one hundred percent, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

Once more unto the breach. “Communications, order the battle group to follow us in.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani stared at her tactical plot. It’s time to go. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive, all ahead full.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Space erupted in a spectacular display of colors as a vortex formed in front of the ship. The Greengold slid through. The view changed briefly to the inside of the wormhole, directly followed by the blackness of space—albeit with a new set of stars visible.

“Conn, TAO. Sensors online… showing three League of Sol destroyers, designated Master One, Two, and Three.” Bryan turned around. “Master One and Three are pretty banged up. It appears as if they took damage from automated defenses.”

“Prioritize those ships for our fast movers,” Tehrani replied. “Launch ready fighters and bombers.”

“All ready craft launching now, ma’am,” Wright said. “I show four Sabres and four Maulers in space and forming up.”

“TAO, firing point procedures,” Tehrani began, not missing a beat. “Master Three, forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

* * *

Justin was filled with wonder and amazement as his Sabre rocketed out of the Greengold’s hangar bay, pawing the vacuum. It was difficult not to be. Bright-blue beams erupted from the carrier’s bow and slammed into the shields of one of the enemy destroyers. Red energy radiated around the strike. If he weren’t in the middle of a fight for his life and the continued existence of the Terran Coalition, it might’ve been a beautiful display.

“Alpha One, I’m showing a bunch of debris out here,” Feldstein said. “Guessing it’s what’s left of the defense emplacements.”

That deep inside of Canaan’s system-defense grid, there would be point-defense and anti-ship batteries, but most of the protection would come from other ships. At least that was what Justin remembered reading. “In other words, we’re on our own?”

“Exactly, sir.”

A group of four enemy fighters lit up on Justin’s HUD. They headed directly for the Epsilon bomber formation. “Alpha, break and attack inbound enemies. Weapons-free status. I say again, weapons-free status. Splash ’em.”

“Well, what else did you expect us to do?” Mateus asked in a goofy voice. “Shake hands and offer them a bowl of feijoada?”

Feldstein laughed. “It might give them indigestion.”

As they bantered back and forth, Justin watched the range to target close rapidly. He lined up with the lead fighter and waited for the missile-lock-on tone. Checking his weapon stores, he was happy to see that besides the normal Vulture LIDAR-active-tracking antifighter missiles, he had a pod of dumb-fire rockets. Those will come in handy if League bombers appear. Heh, when they appear. A harsh buzzing filled the cockpit. Justin depressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

The weapon dropped smoothly out of the internal weapons bay, ignited its engine, and sped away rapidly. A moment later, a blue icon appeared on Justin’s HUD, representing the Vulture. He lined up the targeting reticule for his miniature neutron cannons and squeezed the firing trigger the second he was in range.

Between the missile and numerous streaks of blue neutron energy, the target exploded in short order. The orange blast quickly ended, as the available oxygen supply from the fighter’s life-support system was consumed almost immediately.

But the remaining League craft weren’t sitting ducks. They gamely returned fire from their plasma cannons while sending anti-fighter warheads from their internal weapons stores into the fray.

Justin’s HUD came alive with competing alerts, missile icons, and threat indicators. Like every other encounter so far, the engagement quickly degenerated into a quick-turning dogfight, with him chasing enemies’ aft sections to score another kill—with the added challenge of avoiding death himself. “Alpha One, splash one. Engaged with hostile fighters.” He rocked the flight stick to the left, avoiding a stream of plasma balls as they sailed past his craft. “Epsilon, you’re clear for an attack run.”

“Right, mate, we’re on it. Going after Master Three. Keep those buggers off us, Alpha,” Martin said. “Extra beer for all of you if my old girl doesn’t get shot up again.”

“You’re on, Martin.” Justin laughed softly. Even in the heat of battle, the colorful pilot brought a smile to Justin’s face. He sent another volley of neutron energy at a League fighter, which dodged most of the incoming fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mateus eradicate another enemy.

“Alpha Four, splash one.”

Taking advantage of the momentary lull in fighter combat, the four Mauler bombers lined up for their attack runs. Martin took the lead, and two anti-ship missiles streaked away from his craft. The others followed in short order, leaving a total of eight fusion warheads headed for the League destroyer. Following them in, the bombers added streams of miniature neutron-cannon energy to the mix, causing red impact effects all over the shields of the enemy vessel.

A Lawrence-drive-generated wormhole opened within a few kilometers of Jason’s craft. It took a few seconds for the onboard combat computer to classify its IFF as the CSV Marcus Luttrell. Justin breathed a sigh of relief as the friendly destroyer opened up with all its might, sending neutron beams and magnetic-cannon rounds into Master Three. The Leaguer ship took a beating, and eventually, its protective screens blinked out. Instead of red shield effects, minor explosions blossomed across its armor plating and hull.

“Right on, mates. That’s how you do it!” Martin exclaimed. “Can you do something about the bloody wanker trying to lock me up, Alpha? I’d much rather stick a Javelin up this commie’s tailpipe than have to veer off to avoid another missile heading for my old girl.”

Justin had to stare at the HUD and its augmented-reality display for several seconds before he picked out the offending fighter Martin was talking about. Once he located it, Justin tagged the target as his primary and engaged full afterburner. The Sabre rocketed forward, quickly reaching maximum thrust. He allowed the g-forces to build to an almost unbearable level, mentally calculating the time to intercept. Come on. Come on. The Greengold couldn’t handle an extended capital-ship engagement, and the bombers needed time to lock on properly and fire their large, poorly maneuvering anti-ship missiles. But the League pilot seemed to have an almost myopic focus on Martin’s craft and didn’t react to his approach.

The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the launch button. An active LIDAR-tracking warhead dropped out of the internal stores bay. A moment later, its engine engaged, and it rocketed away. “Alpha One, fox three!” he called.

As his fighter entered energy-weapons range, Justin lined up as best as he could and held down the firing trigger. Streaks of blue energy erupted from his craft and zoomed through the void. Several hit, followed closely by the missile. The enemy craft exploded in bright-orange flame. “Alpha One, splash one. You’re clear, Epsilon leader.”

“Thanks, mate. Now, enjoy the show.”

Four Javelin missiles blasted away from the flight of Mauler bombers. With no fighter cover remaining, all the enemy vessel had for protection was its point-defense emplacements, and they weren’t up to the task. Three out of the four warheads impacted the hull of the League destroyer, turning the armor molten and exposing the innards of the ship to the vacuum of space. A few seconds later, secondary explosions erupted from the stricken vessel. It blew up before Justin’s eyes, reduced to one-meter chunks that posed no threat except to an unshielded shuttle. It didn’t quite register mentally that besides erasing the ship, hundreds of souls had been erased from the universe at the same time.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, buggers,” Martin said.

It took Justin a moment to realize Martin was transmitting on the guard frequency.

“Now, how about you bugger off, or we’ll do the same thing to your other ships here, yeah?”

To Justin’s immense surprise, someone with a Russian accent spoke, also on the guard frequency. “You capitalist pigs will die. League conquers all, and death of comrades only inspires us further!”

“What are you? Off your face, mate?”

“My face is on, capitalist dog!”

By that point, every CDF pilot in space was snickering at the exchange. Justin could barely contain his laughter as he aimed his Sabre toward the next group of enemy fighters. “These guys fly about as well as they speak English,” he said.

“All right, wanker. We’ll see you off presently,” Martin replied. “Tally ho, boys. Giant target at one o’clock!”

Still laughing, Justin down-selected to the lead fighter of the next group of bandits headed toward the Mauler flight. He patiently waited for the distance to close enough for a solid missile lock while Martin continued his comedic activities. Justin felt glad for the brash pilot—the running stream of jokes allowed him to forget for a moment that they were in a life-or-death battle.

9

Long shadows ran across the bridge. The area was bathed in dim blue lights as the Zvika Greengold maintained condition one. Tehrani monitored the battle from her tactical plot, noting with satisfaction that Alpha element had cleared a path for the bombers once again. Icons representing anti-ship missiles blossomed from each Mauler and raced into the side of a League destroyer right as the Marcus Luttrell opened fire with magnetic cannons and neutron beams.

“Conn, TAO. Master One neutralized,” Bryan said. “Its engine pods sheared off during the attack run by Sierra One. I’m detecting escape pods launching.”

“Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington,” Tehrani began. Two down, one to go. Shocked by their performance so far, she marveled at how they were dispatching the enemy vessels with ease.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Wright intoned.

Tehrani turned toward him. “Get out of my head,” she replied with a grin. “I just thought this was a bit too easy.”

“Yeah, I’m not jinxing us. We can save that for the after-party.”

“Party?”

Wright raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, when this series of battles is over, this ship’s gonna rock like you’ve never seen. You might want to take shore leave.”

“I can put my liquor down just the same as you, XO.” She winked. “Just because I’m a Muslim doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.”

“Point taken, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Master Two entering weapons range.”

“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Two, forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan said.

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Twin spears of blue neutrons shot out of the Greengold and crossed the void at the speed of light. They slammed into the shields of the remaining League destroyer, and the impact point crackled with blue and red hues as the deflector generator pushed back against the solid-energy weapon. The enemy’s protective screens held, but from Tehrani’s readout, they’d weakened considerably from the full power blast. Red plasma balls and anti-ship missiles erupted from the League warship and lashed the Greengold along with the Marcus Luttrell.

“Conn, TAO. We’re taking significant shield damage to our forward arc, ma’am.”

Tehrani checked her display and mentally plotted a new course. “Navigation, come to heading zero-three-eight, mark negative fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner called. “Coming to course zero-three-eight, mark negative fifteen.”

The ship rotated slightly, and its thrusters kicked in, pushing them to the direction prescribed. The incoming fire from the League vessel slowed and started hitting the starboard shield instead of the forward generator. All the while, combat between the friendly and enemy small craft continued. To Tehrani’s practiced eye, the blue forces were clearly winning the engagement—at least so far. They’d taken one craft lost to almost a dozen Leaguers. I’ll take that rate of exchange any day. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how easy it was to be happy she’d only lost one pilot.

“Conn, Communications. A wide-band transmission is coming from the remaining League vessel. Can’t read it, ma’am.”

Wright snorted. “Distress call, most likely.”

“We need to finish that ship off quickly,” Tehrani replied. She leaned forward as a small seed of fear implanted itself in the pit of her stomach. “Communications, vector all friendly assets to attack Master Two.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh answered quickly.

The Marcus Luttrell commenced another attack run on the hapless League destroyer. Backed by the Mauler bombers nipping at the enemy’s heels, the Gladius-class vessel’s magnetic cannons and neutron beams flashed in the deep. High-explosive and armor-piercing projectiles raced toward the enemy and exploded against its shields, while the blue neutron beams bored away. Between anti-ship missiles and the Luttrell’s barrage, the Leaguer’s deflectors failed, and minor explosions dotted its hull.

“TAO, energy-weapon capacitor recharge status?”

“Eighty percent, ma’am,” Bryan called over his shoulder.

“TAO, snap shot, Master Two, forward neutron beams.” In CDF parlance, a snap shot was firing a weapon without an affirmative firing solution—a best guess. I’m taking a chance here, but every second counts. Tehrani could almost feel more League forces about to jump in.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Two blue beams stabbed out from the Greengold and speared the League destroyer. They burned through the brittle armor, bored through the hull, and erupted out of the other side of the hapless vessel. A series of secondary explosions started small then blossomed into an explosive wave that blew the ship apart.

“Conn, TAO, Master Two destroyed.”

A few cheers rang out on the bridge before a sharp-tongued senior enlisted soldier barked, “As you were. Maintain focus!”

Tehrani stared at the plot, which showed the few remaining enemy fighters being run down by Alpha element and its expertly flown Sabres. She breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at the readout for the shipyard—damaged but still in one piece. “Well, that was a nice change of pace,” she said with a smirk in Wright’s direction.

“Makes me begin to believe we’ll beat these guys in no time,” Wright replied. “Though trying to keep a damper—”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole.” Bryan interrupted. A moment passed. “League signature, ma’am. I’m showing a frigate at heading two-seven-eight, range seventy kilometers. She’s right on top of us.” He took a breath. “Contact designated as Master Four.”

I knew it was too good to be true. “TAO, designate Master Four as the primary target for all friendly forces.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” A few seconds later, Bryan spoke again. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes!” His voice tensed as he spoke. “New contacts… two heavy cruisers, designated Master Five and Six. They’re targeting Sierra One, ma’am.”

For a moment, Tehrani’s tongue caught in her throat. Two heavy cruisers? They’d barely taken one out—with help—in the last engagement. If we lose this shipyard, it will cripple our ship-repair capabilities in Canaan. Why hasn’t Command sent more help? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and focused on the battle. One problem at a time. “Communications, direct the Marcus Luttrell to engage…” She glanced at the plot for a moment. “Master Five.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“What’s on the flight line and at ready five, XO?”

“Four Mauler bombers… Delta element, ma’am,” Wright replied. He paused and leaned closer. “We need reinforcements. There’s no way our task force will defeat two capital ships.”

Tehrani set her jaw and whispered back, “We can’t abandon the shipyard. Get those bombers in space now.” She turned toward Singh. “Communications, request immediate reinforcements from General Irvine’s command.”

* * *

A short distance away, Justin stared numbly at the battlefield. Fresh League fighters streamed out of the shuttle bays on both newly arrived heavy cruisers, complicating an already-dangerous tactical situation. The only support forthcoming from the Zvika Greengold was another element of bombers. He steeled himself for another fast-paced dogfight. “This is Spencer to Alpha flight. Form on me and prepare to engage hostiles bearing zero-one-zero, two clicks out. We’ll take a run at the ones attacking the Maulers first.”

“Understood, Alpha One,” Feldstein replied.

“This is what I call a target-rich environment,” Mateus cracked. “At this rate, I’ll be a triple ace before the day’s out.”

“Or in a pine box,” Justin said darkly. “This is for keeps, people. Keep it tight and watch your six.”

On Justin’s HUD, a group of eight League craft headed straight for his Sabre element, while others peeled off and zoomed away toward the bombers. Damn, this is going to get hairy. He clicked the safety to his neutron cannons off. “All fighters, break and engage.”

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields at sixty-eight percent effectiveness. Master Five and Six coming about to engage us on our fore quarter,” Bryan said, his voice carrying across the bridge of the Zvika Greengold.

The deck plates rumbled and vibrated as more plasma cannon blasts and a few missiles made it through their point-defense screen.

Tehrani adjusted her safety harness and stared at the tactical plot then lifted her head and made eye contact with Wright. “If we adjust our heading here,” she said as she touched the screen, “our bombers and the Marcus Luttrell could focus-fire everything they’ve got on Master Five. Do you see anything I’m missing?”

Wright shook his head. “No, ma’am. The only emergency ripcord I can think of is launching all of our small craft.”

“Which we want to avoid at all costs to deal with whatever comes next.”

“Yup. Don’t you wish we were on a Saratoga-class carrier about now?”

Tehrani smiled. “Too big and impersonal. I enjoy knowing the life history of every officer and most senior enlisted personnel under my command.” She turned back to the front, all business. “Navigation, adjust heading to zero-eight-five, mark zero. Increase thrust to flank.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“TAO, designate Master Five as the priority target for all friendly bombers and inform Sierra One of our new course and speed.”

Arrington is a good-enough ship driver that I don’t have to spell this out for him. Tehrani noted with satisfaction that as they turned, so did the Marcus Luttrell and both Epsilon and Delta elements. Eight Mauler bombers went straight for the League heavy cruiser, while the Luttrell provided fire support. Magnetic cannon shells, neutron beams, and anti-ship missiles crisscrossed space with red plasma balls and the Leaguers’ versions of directed energy weapons. It inflicted significant damage on the enemy’s shields, but they held. Both bomber elements accelerated away for another pass.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole,” Bryan began. “CDF signature… Argyle-class frigate, CSV Sheffield, designated as Sierra Two. She’s dropping out off the port bow, ma’am.”

What in the heck are they doing here? Tehrani’s mind raced with alarm. She’d warned the frigates off because they had limited weaponry and were of little use against a heavy cruiser.

To her concern, almost immediately, the two capital ships shifted their focus to the new friendly contact. Crucially, they landed several hits on the Sheffield’s hull before she could raise her shields. The tactical plot updated with an icon showing primary-systems failure on the frigate.

“Navigation, bring us about. Intercept course on Sierra Two, flank speed.”

“Skipper?” Wright asked.

“We have to get close enough to extend our shields around them.”

“Our shields are almost fifty percent depleted.”

“Your point, XO?” Tehrani asked quietly. “They’ve got to jump out of here as fast as possible. Or we’ll lose over two hundred good men and women.”

The next report from Bryan only emphasized her point. “Conn, TAO. Sierra Two shields are critical, ma’am. I think she’s suffering reactor failure.”

“Communications, get me the Sheffield.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

A good thirty seconds passed, which seemed like an eternity. “Any time today, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said with a glance at Singh.

“I’m sorry. They’re not responding—”

“Conn, TAO. Sierra Two shields have collapsed.”

“Extend ours, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Suddenly, a bright explosion filled the windows at the front of the bridge. Gasps of shock went up from the officers and enlisted crew. Tehrani felt her knees go weak. She knew what had happened before glancing at the tactical plot to see that the icon for the Sheffield had disappeared.

“Conn, TAO. Sierra Two destroyed, ma’am,” Bryan said somberly. He turned in his chair, his mouth wide open in shock. “I couldn’t get our shields around them in time. I’m sorry.”

“We can only do our duty, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied in a monotone. “We’ll have time to grieve for our friends later. Now, we keep fighting. Navigation…” Thuds from repeated weapons impacts shook the Zvika Greengold. “Resume previous course and turn our port side to the enemy.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner called.

As the watchstanders’ commands flew back and forth, Tehrani took a few moments to pray for the dead. O God, if they were doers of good, then increase their good deeds. If they were wrongdoers, overlook their bad deeds. O God, forgive them and admit them into Paradise. With the prayer completed, she narrowed her eyes and searched for any possible advantage over the enemy.

* * *

While Justin’s flight helmet had a built-in anti-glare safety feature that dimmed bright lights, he was still blinded by the Sheffield’s explosion. That frigate had two hundred soldiers aboard. Justin immediately pushed the thought down. He would have time for examination of his flying and tactics later. For the moment, he had to focus on one objective: stopping the Leaguers from doing the same thing to the Zvika Greengold.

Grim determination to press on and defeat the enemy filled him. I’ll blow every one of them out of the void.

Two remaining bombers in the formation Alpha had attacked veered off toward the friendly carrier. Justin kicked his Sabre’s afterburners to max thrust and settled into the six o’clock position of one of the enemy craft. He stroked the firing trigger of his fighter’s neutron cannons. The bomber exploded after six bolts hit, collapsed its weakened shields, and shredded the paper-thin hull.

“Nice shooting, sir,” Feldstein called. Her craft loosed two missiles that tracked the remaining bomber. The explosive impact blew the Leaguer apart. “Alpha Two, splash one.”

“It’s not a contest,” Justin replied, grinning. “Okay, we’re clear for a moment. Status check, Alpha flight.”

“Full hull and shields. Stores at thirty percent,” Mateus reported.

“Moderate hull damage. Stores at fifty percent,” Adeoye said. “Still fully combat capable, sir.”

Before Feldstein could chime in, Justin’s HUD lit up with a bevy of new red dots—eight more League bombers launched four at a time from the two heavy cruisers.

He despaired at the sheer numbers of the enemy. “Tally ho, bandits.” Justin quickly tagged the two groups of enemies. “Adeoye, you’re with me. Feldstein and Mateus, intercept the second blob. Under no circumstances can we allow them to launch missiles on the Greengold. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Feldstein replied.

“I love a target-rich environment,” Mateus crowed in the background. “Time to take out the trash.”

Note to self—she’s nuts. Justin adjusted the trajectory of his Sabre, drawing an imaginary line through space in his mind. The aim was to come at them slightly off head-on, making the enemy waste their energy-weapon shots while giving him the ability to get a missile lock. He engaged his afterburners yet again. The energy level hadn’t entirely recharged, so he only got a ten-second burst out of them, but it was more than enough. The lock-on tone buzzed, and he pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

As the active LIDAR-guided missile flew away, the bomber it tracked attempted to deploy countermeasures and dodge. It played right into Justin’s hands. He settled behind the enemy craft as the missile hit its shields and depleted them by half. Neutron-beam energy stabbed out from the Sabre and sliced through the remaining deflector strength, repeatedly smashing the thin hull. The Leaguer exploded in a ball of bright-orange flame.

“Alpha One, splash one!”

“Alpha Three, splash one,” Adeoye called.

Justin glanced at the tactical overlay on his HUD and noted with satisfaction that the rest of Alpha was tightly engaged. However, two League bombers had broken through the fighter screen and were closing on the Greengold. He pointed his craft directly at their six o’clock and triggered the Sabre’s afterburners. With even less charge than before, they went dead after six seconds of thrust. Dammit, they’re just outside my range. Then it hit him—he could keep triggering the afterburner and squeeze a series of one-second minibursts out of it. The crew chief is gonna rip me a new one.

“Zvika Greengold to Alpha element. Enemy bombers are almost in range. Request you take them out immediately,” Singh said, breaking into the commlink for squadron commanders. “Do you read, Lieutenant?”

“Loud and clear, Zvika Greengold. I’m about to splash those bandits for you,” Justin replied.

It took him another twenty seconds, but his fighter finally entered weapons range. He toggled the secondary weapon selector to the dumb-fire rocket pod he’d had the crew chief load. I hope to hell this trick works twice. Sliding in directly behind the closest bomber, Justin held down the flight-stick-integrated trigger for his neutron cannons while firing the rockets at the same time. The volley struck home as warhead after warhead exploded against the enemy’s shield. Coupled with damage from the barrage of blue energy, the Leaguer exploded in a fiery ball of orange.

Justin didn’t even have time to give the commlink signal for another kill as he quickly altered his heading and locked on to the next target. Another six-second burst of rockets and neutron cannons resulted in a second destroyed bomber. “Alpha One, splash two.”

“Nice shooting, Lieutenant,” Singh said. “Greengold out.”

Justin pondered for a moment how he was still alive. He’d already taken out several League craft, adding to his running total of over ten. I’m not even that good of a pilot. Perhaps the Leaguers were simply worse pilots. Another wave of bombers launched from the heavy cruisers along with a few fighters. He glanced at the HUD and realized they were closely escorting the larger craft. Whoever’s in charge over there apparently learned their lesson. It would make interdicting the next group that much harder.

“I’m all for a target-rich environment, but this is getting ridiculous,” Feldstein said. “How many bombers can they hold in those cruisers, anyway?”

“As many as we can blow up.” Mateus chortled. “What do you Americans say? Bring it on.”

Chuckles from all four pilots filled the channel before Justin spoke. “I read four fighters. They appear to be headed right for us.” He paused as he tagged the craft as priority targets. “Alpha Three and Four will engage the bombers. Feldstein, you’re with me. We’ll splash the fast movers and join in to mop up the others. Questions?”

“None, sir,” Adeoye replied.

The Sabres belonging to Mateus and Adeoye sped away on a direct intercept course with the incoming bomber wave, while Justin adjusted his heading slightly to give himself a better attack profile on the rapidly closing enemy fighters. Both sides exchanged active LIDAR-guided missiles, which the superior CDF electronic warfare capabilities spoofed. Justin didn’t see what happened to Feldstein’s warhead, but his hit its target.

Feldstein rolled off to engage one of the four bandits, while Justin tried to spin out and match the maneuvering of the damaged League craft. He initiated a series of scissors moves, swapping places several times and trading ineffective energy-weapons fire with the enemy fighter. Justin was so engrossed in the twisting and turning of the tail chase that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the missile alarm sounded. A quick glance at the HUD showed two warheads inbound.

“Look out, Spencer. You’ve got two fighters on your tail,” Feldstein called. “I’ll be there as soon as I erase this idiot in front of me from the universe.”

Justin twisted his flight stick to the right, rolling away from the inbound threats while simultaneously releasing multiple balls of high-tech LIDAR spoofing chaff. One missile struck a decoy and exploded, while the other tracked him move for move. At the last second, he tried a high-G maneuver, pulling up relative to how his fighter was pointed and engaged the afterburner. It wasn’t enough—the explosion and impact threw Justin forward as the Sabre’s shields absorbed most of the blast. But not everything—the master alarm sounded, its piercing drone insistent of attention. Damage indicators in his HUD sprang up around his left engine. I have to do something now to change the battlefield, or I’m going to die. Fear crept up inside of him, supercharging his senses. “This is Alpha One declaring an emergency.”

Streams of red plasma balls shot by the transparent cockpit canopy of Justin’s fighter. Dread built up within him as he juked from one side to the other, trying to avoid being blown up. He recalled the words of one of his flight instructors, warning him never to let the enemy penetrate his OODA—Observe, Orient, Decide, and Act—loop. The only thing that would even the odds was to take out one of the pursuing fighters. There’s no way to do that with them locked on my six.

Justin made a quick decision and pulled back hard on the flight stick. His Sabre responded immediately, even with engine damage. G-forces climbed rapidly and brought physical pain as he swiftly turned toward his former pursuers. Combat tactics called for avoiding head-to-head slugging matches at all costs, but it was not the time for timidity.

Justin toggled his heat-seeking missiles to double fire. He only had four in total. This had damn well better work. Unlike LIDAR-tracked missiles, the heat seekers didn’t need a lock. He stroked the firing button. “Alpha One, fox two.”

A bright plume of flame accelerated away from his fighter as Justin held down the trigger for his miniature neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of blue energy at the enemy fighter he’d lined up with. Plasma balls found his forward shields and whittled them away, ten percent at a time. He’d briefly questioned the logic of his decision before both warheads impacted on the unlucky Leaguer, who didn’t maneuver away. Rewarded with an orange fireball, he breathed a sigh of relief as the remaining fighter streaked by.

“Alpha Two, splash one! I’m on the way, Spencer. Hang on.”

“Roger, Alpha Two. I got one too. Auto repair unit is online, and I’m reengaging the enemy.”

“I could use some help over here,” Mateus said. “These Leaguer bombers are tough.”

“Got any dumb-fire rockets?” Justin asked.

“Negative, sir.”

“Then switch to neutron cannons and close in. It's not worth wasting your Vultures on them.”

“Wilco.”

The HUD flashed with a message that Justin’s engines had been repaired—as much as they would be by the auto-repair unit. He toggled the thrust up to maximum and set off toward the nearest fighter. The faster he could eliminate them, the faster he could help his fellows in splashing the enemy bombers. As he ran the proper engagement tactics through his mind, he had a thought that seemed out of place: This is fun, in some bizarre way. But another portion of his brain chided him. People are dying out here.

10

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields at sixteen percent,” Bryan called. “Forward deflector generator is overheating and close to failure. Sierra One is taking hull damage.”

While the bridge was a seemingly carefully coordinated level of chaos, Tehrani was the eye of the storm. She stared at the tactical display. It showed the two League heavy cruisers bracketing them and, worse, swarms of bombers attacking them from all vectors. We did our best. But at some point, their best wasn’t enough. Options for retreat ran through her mind. “What else can we get into space, XO?”

“They’re popping so much fire into us, ma’am, that I wouldn’t recommend any launch attempts. If one of those plasma balls got lucky and took out a fully loaded bomber… the Greengold wouldn’t survive,” Wright replied quietly. “Probably need to think about bugging out.”

No! Tehrani pursed her lips. “Communications, put me live on the general distress frequency.”

“You’re on, ma’am.”

“This is Colonel Tehrani, CSV Zvika Greengold, requesting assistance from any friendly vessels. I say again, this is the Zvika Greengold requesting assistance. We are under heavy attack, and if we withdraw, enemy forces will finish off the shipyard we’re protecting.” She turned to Singh and made a cutting gesture across her neck.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields have failed.”

To underline Bryan’s report, a series of jolts shook the entire bridge crew in their harnesses, including Tehrani. She held on tight as the deck bucked. “Navigation, emergency turn to port. Present our starboard shield to the enemy. Ahead flank!”

Wright’s face betrayed his fear. “Colonel, I again must urge you to consider retreat.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Communications, signal the fast movers to head to within thirty-second combat-landing range of the ship.” Tehrani opened her eyes and stared at Wright. “We wait until the last possible moment.”

* * *

“You heard the Colonel. Everyone back to the Greengold.” Justin’s pulse quickened.

Ominous numbers of red dots appeared on his HUD, signaling another wave of enemy fighters and at least two bombers incoming. Dammit. If we don’t stop those bombers, they’ll destroy the Marcus Luttrell or the Greengold. Both ships were heavily damaged. He wasn’t sure how the Luttrell had stayed in one piece. The little destroyer was shot full of so many holes that it didn’t resemble a ship.

I can’t let that happen. Justin wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reached the conclusion that he had to stop the Leaguers by himself, but when he did, it was with a steadfast resolve. Engaging the afterburner of his Sabre, he performed a loop and headed back toward the enemy.

“Sir, why are you turning around?” Feldstein asked.

“Someone’s gotta stop those bombers, Lieutenant. You and everyone else get back to home plate. I’ll cover you.”

“We’re not leaving you, sir.”

“I’ve no desire to die today, Feldstein. The moment I get those bombers, I’ll push it up and perform a combat landing. In the meantime, make sure the rest of Alpha element gets back safely so that I don’t have to worry about you.”

A pregnant pause came through the commlink connection. “I understand, sir.”

“Bring them home safe. Spencer out.”

“Godspeed, sir.”

The exhortation, from a time gone by in the CDF, didn’t strike home for Justin. The only thing getting him out of the situation he was in, besides his skills, was good luck. Sometimes all we need is for the bad guys to have a run of bad luck.

With grim determination, he adjusted the flight stick and aimed directly for the group of fighters racing at him. I need to change the rules here. Justin pulled up the stores list on his Sabre. Three LIDAR-tracking missiles and four heat seekers remained. He inhaled through his nose.

“You should run back with the rest of your friends, capitalist pig,” someone said over the guard frequency in heavily accented English. “If not, we run you down.”

Justin deftly disabled the launch safeties on his heat-seeking missiles, allowing him to toggle-fire all four at the same time. He stroked the missile-launch button, and the quintuplets of death dropped from his fighter’s internal munitions bay. Each Eagle’s engine ignited, and they blasted off toward the approaching League craft.

“Come on down,” Justin said after changing the commlink frequency. “I’ll be glad to wait.” While his tone was confident, even cocky, he wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Hopefully all four warheads won’t find the same fighter.

Luck, fate, or perhaps something more was on Justin’s side. The four missiles danced around the battlespace, quickly gaining targets and beginning their terminal homing mode. Two picked the first Leaguer, while the other two locked onto his wingman. Both enemy craft exploded in orange flame. “Alpha One, splash two.”

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing out there? Get back to home plate.” The commlink’s squadron command channel erupted with the raspy voice of Major Whatley. “I don’t need any dead heroes.”

As Justin rotated his craft and lined up on the closest Leaguer, his mind was alive with how to respond to his commanding officer. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re breaking up.”

“Spencer! Don’t give me that bull—”

He turned the commlink off and took a deep breath. I’ll deal with the court-martial later. Justin had one task: stop the last two League bombers on a direct attack run toward the Zvika Greengold. Both had already loosed anti-ship missiles, which in the carrier’s weakened state—especially if they hit the right spot—could destroy the vessel.

He pressed one finger down on the afterburner initiator while holding his flight stick with the other hand. As his Sabre closed the distance, he realized he was coming in upside down, at least from his perspective. After a barrel roll, Justin was on the same plane of engagement.

Justin switched his designated target to the nearest anti-ship missile headed toward the Greengold and sent a stream of blue neutron-cannon energy at it. Trying to hit an object that small was a great challenge, but one bolt dinged the outer skin of the warhead. It exploded in a bright ball of blue fire. As the second one passed, he fired a continuous burst. Just as it was almost beyond engagement range, the missile blew up. He let out a deep sigh and pulled his fighter around.

The League bombers flashed by quickly, still heading straight for the Greengold. Justin pulled fourteen Gs as he looped around, pulse-firing the afterburner to keep his intercept speed up. The missile-lock-on tone blared, and he squeezed the launch button on a LIDAR-guided anti-fighter weapon, which dropped from the Sabre’s internal weapons bay. A moment later, it barreled off into the blackness of space. Because of the close range, it only took five seconds to slam into the enemy bomber’s aft shield and explode.

Holding down his energy-weapons firing trigger, Justin put shot after shot into the bomber’s tail section and was finally rewarded with it exploding into a million pieces. He didn’t call his kill over the commlink or even mentally acknowledge it. Like a machine, he turned his focus to the last bomber and slid his craft over to line up behind it.

The lock-on tone sounded again, its loud buzzing almost a dagger to the mind. Justin launched another LIDAR-guided anti-fighter missile, leaving him with only one left in onboard stores. He was dangerously low on munitions. If this keeps up, all I’ll have left are my neutron cannons. Despite the League bomber’s attempt to maneuver away, the friendly warhead pressed home its attack and hit the enemy’s protective shields. Again, Justin was ready, firing bolt after bolt of blue energy into its hull. Like the other craft before it, the bomber exploded in a ball of orange flames, burning against the blackness of space for a moment before it consumed all onboard oxygen.

Justin felt utterly amazed he was still alive as he stared at his HUD. Four more kills—and somehow his fighter was operational despite no support. He noted with satisfaction that the rest of Alpha element and the friendly bombers were clustered around the Greengold, ready to land. As he turned his Sabre back toward the carrier, a sixth sense came over him. The hair on the back of his head stood up. It took a moment to realize why: the remaining League fighters were directly behind him.

The inbound-missile alarm went off, filling the cockpit of Justin’s craft with a persistent beeping. Muscle memory leaped into action as he deployed several canisters of LIDAR-spoofing chaff and pulled up hard on the flight stick.

“Capitalist has trouble to fight real pilot,” came the same heavily accented Russian voice over the guard frequency. “Enjoy fake afterlife, kozyol.”

As Justin looped around, he narrowly avoided one of the enemy missiles that didn’t take the bait and go after his chaff canisters. The other one did—exploding violently but harmlessly eight hundred meters away. Too close for comfort. He flashed by the two League fighters and killed his forward thrust, using the speed he’d built up to execute a turn in heading that reversed the Sabre’s course. The g-forces from it nearly caused him to black out. But in combat, nearly was the difference between life and death.

“Where you go, pig? Come back and fight.”

Justin grinned as he kicked his engine thrust back to maximum and engaged the afterburner. It only took him a few seconds to settle into the six o’clock position of the nearby enemy craft. While his onboard LIDAR system locked on the target, he cued the transmitter on the commlink. “Hey, Leaguer. I’ve got a weather report for you.” The missile-lock tone sounded, and Justin immediately pressed the launch button. “A thousand degrees Celsius and fiery.” The weapon raced away and, thanks to the short distance, quickly entered terminal-homing mode and exploded against the fighter’s shields. All the while, he sent bolt after bolt of blue neutron energy into the hapless target. A moment later, the League craft exploded in a ball of orange.

“Just you and me, mudak.”

“What’s a mudak?” Justin asked. His Sabre pawed the vacuum as he tried to line up the last enemy. “I don’t think I’ve heard that insult before. Did you make it up just now?”

Hard laughter filled the commlink. “Russian word for testicle. It mean you, idiot. You cannot fight entire League. We sweep you aside.”

“Yeah, well, I swept your friends aside like they weren’t even there,” Justin replied. He squeezed the firing trigger for his craft’s neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of highly charged blue energy into the void.

A few connected with the enemy, but the opposing pilot had skill. He juked to one side and rolled away from the barrage. Then, in a flash, the League fighter pulled a one-hundred-eighty-degree Immelmann change in direction. The distance between the two craft decreased to point-blank range as the Leaguer fired aggressively at Justin’s Sabre.

The missile-lock-on alarm sounded, causing Justin to pull back hard on his flight stick, attempting to match the Immelmann. Simultaneously, he triggered his chaff dispenser, only to find it empty. Oh shit. For a moment, panic threatened to take over inside Justin’s mind. He forced it down and hit the afterburner, trying to gain some distance on the incoming warheads—anything to give him space to work with.

It didn’t work. Both tracked his fighter flawlessly and exploded violently against the Sabre’s shields. They failed in an instant, and the loud buzz of the master alarm filled the cockpit.

“Paka paka, Terran,” the Russian pilot called harshly across the void.

Justin realized as he moved his flight stick to the right that his controls were sluggish. A glance at the internal repair diagnostic showed why: damage to the Sabre’s internal hydraulic systems and a busted thruster. His HUD showed the Leaguer lining up perfectly behind him. I was so close. Part of him demanded to know why he’d had to be a hero, especially when he’d avoided any hint of combat throughout his short military career.

“Bye-bye yourself, Leaguer.” Feldstein’s voice cut through the mental noise.

With shock followed quickly by relief, Justin stared at the sensor display as two active LIDAR-tracked missiles loosed from Feldstein’s fighter and ran into the aft shield of the enemy craft. Just like that, it exploded in a ball of flames, and he went from being dead to saved.

Justin let out a breath. “Lieutenant, thank you.” His voice shook. It took a few seconds for him to realize how close to death he’d come.

“No problem, sir. That was one hell of a show you put on. We were all cheering, but it looked like you could use some help.”

“You arrived just in time,” Justin replied. His voice broke as he spoke.

“Never out of the fight, sir.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He paused for a moment and tried to move his craft from side to side. It was still extraordinarily slow to respond to his inputs. “I think I’ve got a flight-control problem, Lieutenant. Could you come alongside and take a look?”

“Yes, sir. Can you maneuver to head back to the Greengold?”

After fighting with the controls, Justin got his Sabre pointed in the general direction of the carrier. “She’s lined up as best as I can, but fine movements are difficult.”

“Understood, sir. Give me a moment here.”

It didn’t take long for Feldstein to match speeds with him, especially considering that his afterburner was out, and Justin’s fighter was barely moving at half of its speed potential. Her Sabre came in closer, until he could see her through the cockpit window. “Sir, you’ve got some big chunks of wing missing out here, and you’re trailing vapor. Not sure what it is. Could be O2. Might be fuel.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.” Dammit. I can’t land in this condition on a crowded flight deck. It wasn’t even an option because of the risk to his fellow pilots and shipmates.

“Alpha One, this is Major Whatley. What is your status?”

Justin flipped his commlink to the command channel. “Heavily damaged, sir. Probably won’t be able to land. Recommend you recover all pilots and come back for me later.”

“Figure out a safe landing vector, Spencer. There won’t be a later.”

Nothing that didn’t end in a string of curse words came to Justin’s mind. He muttered, “Acknowledged, sir.”

Feldstein cut in. She’d overridden his comms channel with a private commlink. “Sir. I wanted to tell you it’s been an honor serving with you. That was… brilliant, sir.”

Justin looked out of his cockpit toward her craft and saw her hand up in salute. He brought his hand to his brow and returned the gesture. “Likewise. Thanks for saving my rear end. Hopefully I’ll get to repay you someday.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

* * *

Tehrani held on to the CO’s chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The bridge seemed to heave and bend around them. Though the shift was an optical illusion, it still generated concern. Sparks showered from the overhead behind her, and what sounded like a fuse blew. It left parts of the area in darkness, with dark shadows playing across the consoles.

“Hull integrity is at seventy-eight percent, ma’am. The Marcus Luttrell is shot full of holes. It’s time to scoop our pilots and go,” Wright said insistently.

As Tehrani opened her lips to give the order for all craft to perform a combat landing, Bryan interrupted her. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole.”

She held her breath.

“CDF signature! It’s the Conqueror, ma’am!” Bryan’s tone drifted toward unprofessional.

Tehrani had no problem forgiving the momentary lapse. “Communications, send General Rubin my compliments and request his immediate assistance.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Conqueror has extended her shields to include us and Sierra One,” Bryan called.

As he spoke, the rumbling ceased. The massive battleship swept forward, and its magnetic cannons spoke as one. Helicar-sized shells erupted from the triple-barreled turrets, sending a wave of death toward the League heavy cruisers. Simultaneously, Starbolt anti-ship missiles and neutron beams lashed out and impacted their hulls as the protective deflector screens collapsed. One ship exploded outright as a neutron beam found a fuel bunkerage or warhead magazine, while the other hung on, firing back with everything it had.

A ragged cheer lasting a few seconds went up from the enlisted soldiers on the bridge and quickly died down as it became apparent the fight was still on. The battered League heavy cruiser swung around. As it did, a fresh wave of plasma balls crashed against the overextended shields of the Conqueror.

“Conn, TAO. Sierra Two can’t take too much of this,” Bryan called. “She’s already lost more than half of her shield cohesion.”

Tehrani stared at her tactical plot momentarily. Of course they did. The farther out a deflector generator tries to project from the hull, the worse the problem gets. “Navigation, intercept course, Sierra Two. TAO, send our fast movers back at Master Six.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

A series of orders and responses followed as the bridge team worked to get the ship closer to the Conqueror and finish off the last two League vessels. On Tehrani’s display, the icons representing Alpha and Epsilon rushed toward the enemy. Additional symbols showing anti-ship missiles separated from the blue dots marking the bombers and dashed away.

“Conn, TAO. Master Five disabled.”

Again, the Conqueror’s entire weapons suite lashed in the void. Magnetic cannon shells flew out of their barrels, while blue neutron beams raked the remaining League vessel. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t fair. Cruisers weren’t designed to stand up to line battleships. But Tehrani felt no remorse as she watched the enemy ship explode into one-meter chunks.

“Conn, TAO. Master Six destroyed. All enemy contacts are down.”

Tehrani allowed herself a momentary smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Order our fighters to clean up the remaining enemy small craft.” She checked the tactical plot—only one was left. “Then get our people back aboard.”

“How’d you know?” Wright asked quietly.

“I didn’t,” Tehrani replied. “I was about to order a withdrawal.”

He nodded. “Well, a miss is as good as a mile, as my grandmother used to say.”

She thought of a famous general from the Ottoman empire—Osman Nuri. He’d held the line against Russian forces during a brief war between the two countries in the late nineteenth century on Earth. The fighting they were currently engaged in—brutal defensive actions and what seemed like a last stand—was what had made the pasha a hero. Will I go down in history the same way? Losing my command but inspiring others to fight? Tehrani forced the thoughts from her mind and focused on the task at hand. “Do we have a damage report yet?”

“Working on it, ma’am.”

“Work faster,” Tehrani replied with a smile. “I fear we have little time before we’re thrust into the next battle.” And may Allah have mercy on our souls.

* * *

“How’s it going, sir?”

“Peachy,” Justin replied.

Feldstein was still only twenty meters away from him, flying close escort. While the enemy threat was gone, his fighter was still nearly unflyable. The autorepair system was attempting to repair the flight-control surfaces, but with so much damage, it was a herculean task.

“Any improvement in controlling your bird, sir?”

“Negative. I can steer, but it’s very sluggish.”

An unfamiliar voice broke into the conversation. “Alpha One, this is Zvika Greengold flight deck control. I show you coming in at two hundred meters per second. Slow to fifty and stand by to call the ball.”

Justin cued his mic. “Negative, Control. I don’t have enough positive control over my fighter to land. Request permission to eject and be retrieved by S and R.”

“Negative, Alpha One,” Whatley interjected. “We don’t have time for that evolution. Who knows when the next wave will show up… the Greengold needs to get scarce. I’ve ordered the flight deck to prepare for a hazard landing and clear off section three.”

“Sir, it’s too much of a risk to the ship,” Justin protested. “If my craft were to explode, it would cause secondary explosions. Leave me behind and come back later when it’s safe.”

“Stow it, Spencer. I give the orders around here, and no one, not even your sorry ass, gets left behind. Follow instructions for once in your life.”

The commlink clicked off with a noticeable sound, leaving Justin in silence. The hangar bay of the carrier grew larger in front of him. Soon, he would be able to make out the deck crew running around and other fighters taxiing around the area. Fear gnawed at him. “Feldstein, am I still trailing vapor?”

“Yes, sir.”

Justin closed his eyes. If I believed in God, now would be a good time to pray. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t think a higher being existed or even that it had created the universe. He’d long ago decided that whatever people had in life was the product of their own work, luck, and nothing more. God, if He existed, didn’t interact with lower life forms. Still, it would’ve been comforting to believe in something more. Justin tried with all his might to keep the Sabre straight and level. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. “Slowing to twenty-five meters per second, Control.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha One. I show you at three-quarters of a kilometer. Call the ball.”

“Alpha One, ball, one point five.” Justin’s reply indicated he could see the optical landing system lights and was nearly aligned for a landing in the forward portion of the bay. Gravimetric arrestor control would snag the Sabre as he flew it in, but with his controls so sluggish, it would be nearly impossible to course correct.

“Roger, Alpha One. Ball at five hundred meters per second. Adjust axial course as necessary.”

Justin tried to control his breathing, heart rate, and stress level. He would have to adjust course to avoid slamming into the bulkhead. Usually, it would have been child’s play. “Confirmed. I see the lights.”

At the last second, the carrier pitched up slightly. “Oh shit,” Justin said as he tried to match the movement. His hard maneuver on the flight stick generated an overcorrection.

“Abort! Abort!” the landing officer screamed. “Full-power abort!”

“Negative,” Justin replied as he forced the fighter down centimeter by centimeter. “I can’t turn fast enough to abort. Deploy emergency arrestor barrier.” He flipped the commlink to the private channel with Feldstein. “Lieutenant, if it looks like I’m going into another craft or something flammable, shoot me down.”

“Sir?”

“That was a direct order, Lieutenant. I will not cause the deaths of everyone on this ship. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Every ounce of concentration Justin had went into trying to effect slight changes in his course to line up with the gravfield that would catch his fighter and stop its forward momentum. Every attempt resulted in immediate overcorrection. He couldn’t slow down because the Greengold was moving too fast. He suddenly wondered if he was going to die.

“Alpha One, adjust five degrees to your left.”

Justin grunted. “Acknowledged.” Yeah, file that under ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

The last seconds ticked down, and not a moment too soon, he reduced thrust to three meters per second as his Sabre entered the flight deck. He was too high and fast. Red lights flashed, showing he was off target, before the gravfield tried to grab his craft. It shot through the first and second arrestor fields, leading Justin to determine he was probably about to buy the farm.

Suddenly, Justin’s entire body pitched forward, and his helmet collided with the lip of the cockpit HUD screen. As his vision blurred, he saw stars. I’m not dead. A glance out of the canopy confirmed that the last and strongest emergency arrestor field had grabbed his fighter. It gently lowered the Sabre to the deck. He popped the canopy-release button and turned to see a ladder pushed up against the side.

“LT, you okay in there?” a crew chief called up. “Let us know if you need a medic.”

“No, no. I can climb down,” Justin replied. He felt determined to exit the fighter the same way he’d entered it—on his own two feet. One rung at a time, he made it down to the deck. As soon as Justin did, his knees gave out, and he grabbed the ladder to steady himself.

A small crowd had already gathered around and gave a cheer.

He held up a hand. “Thanks, guys. Nothing to be excited about… I was just doing my job.”

Mateus pushed out in front of the group of pilots and flight crew. “You were like a hero from the holovids, shooting down enemies left and right and evading fire.” Her eyes held admiration. “I wish I could fly that well.”

“Did she just admit someone else is a better pilot?” a Turkish bomber pilot by the name of Orhan Yavuz asked. “Someone get a recording!”

Laughter coursed through them all, and the sound echoed throughout the expansive flight deck. Feldstein appeared at Justin’s side, holding her helmet and wearing a broad grin. “Nice to see you in one piece, sir.”

“It’s nice to be in one piece,” he replied.

The crew chief that had provided the ladder climbed out from underneath the Sabre. “Well, I’ve got some good news, Lieutenant.”

“What’s that?”

“Everything’s repairable, and we’ve got the parts. You’ll be ready to fight in six hours.”

“Really?” Justin felt surprised at the pronouncement, considering how the onboard repair system couldn’t restore full flight control.

“Yeah, these birds have a flaw in the internal hydraulic system. If they get hit just right, well, the entire system craps out. You got unlucky enough to suffer the flaw.”

“That’s what we get for always going with the lowest bidder,” Feldstein replied. “Damn politicians. Always shorting the military.”

“So, let's go wet down our newest quadruple ace,” Mateus interjected, earning a rousing cheer.

“Spen-cer! Spen-cer! Spen-cer!” the group chanted.

Justin’s face turned bloodred, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He only knew he wasn’t interested in being celebrated—not with the loss of another pilot and the ship heavily damaged.

“Attention!”

Justin didn’t recognize the voice, but everyone immediately went rigid, with their arms at their sides.

“Clear the flight deck, pilots!” Whatley screamed, his voice raspy and hoarse. He came to a halt directly in front of Justin and stared him down. “Soaking up the glory, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir.”

“Uh-huh. I heard the reference about wetting down your kills,” Whatley said as he turned and swept the flight bay with his piercing gaze. “There will be no consumption of alcohol by any pilot at any point today. If you violate my order, I’ll have you thrown into the brig. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Justin shouted along with everyone else.

“Good. Glad to hear you’re capable of following an order, Spencer.” Whatley got two inches from Justin’s face. “If you ever violate another direct order from Colonel Tehrani, me, or any other officer appointed over you, I will bust you back to private and put you on latrine-cleaning duty for the rest of your CDF career. Dismissed!”

Fury shot through Justin at the speed of light. For a moment, he balled his fists and thought about punching Whatley in the nose. But he forced it down, turned on his heel, and stalked off with the rest of the pilots.

Feldstein caught up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look… don’t listen to him. You’re a damn hero for what you did out there.”

Justin wrenched away and kept walking. “Whatever. I’ll be in my cabin.”

11

While the crew had worked feverishly to repair battle damage, Tehrani had camped out in her day cabin, going through paperwork and writing condolence letters to the families of those killed in action. She’d never had to do that before. In fact, she’d lost no one under her at any posting until the previous day. Such is the reality of war. Tears fell down her face as she wrote a letter to the mother of a young soldier lost in the engineering spaces. Once she had finished, she sat quietly until the next meeting was scheduled to begin, trying to clear her mind and soul.

Tehrani felt trapped in a nightmare that wouldn’t end. Only I know it’s not. This is my reality now. She thought back to her husband and family, wondering if she’d ever see them again. Will he get a note from the fleet commander, thanking him for my sacrifice?

A few hours later, the senior staff gathered in the conference room on deck one. Tehrani strode through the hatch to find Wright, Whatley, Hodges, and Bryan already present.

They sprang up from the table as she entered.

“As you were,” she said, gesturing at the chairs. “Please take a seat.” I wonder if my nose is still red and my cheeks puffy. It wouldn’t do for those under her command to see her emotions. She steeled herself against any display as she sat. “Where are we at, gentlemen?”

Hodges went first. “Colonel, we have partial power restored to our engines and can maneuver at twenty-five percent of maximum thrust. Both reactors are back online, and hull patches are proceeding.”

Tehrani glanced between the men. “When can we be ready to fight?”

“Technically, we could fight now,” Wright began. “If we had to. But our survival chances will go up a lot once they repair the shields. Call it six hours.” He spread his hands out on the table and bit his lip. “Colonel, I think we have to consider the possibility that the Zvika Greengold is out of the fight, unless there’s literally nothing else left in the cupboard. We’re in terrible shape. Major Hodges gave me a schedule that has repairs ongoing for a week to regain full power to all systems.”

“The pilots are ready to fly on thirty minutes’ notice,” Whatley stated. He crossed his arms. “All you have to do is get us there, and we’ll take out as many of the bastards as we can.”

“You’re talking about a last stand,” Wright interjected.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, XO.”

“Gentlemen, I’m not ready to order such an undertaking and will not unless the fleet needs us. Our orders are to repair and rearm,” Tehrani said, leaning forward to retake control of the discussion. “That said, we must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”

“While we could fight now, Colonel, my pilots need rest.” Whatley leaned back. “I can have stims prescribed for them, but I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms—hopped-up pilots are dead pilots. Give us a few hours of sleep, a good meal, and a shower. After that, I’ll have them back in top shape for you.”

“I should put out there that half our point-defense emplacements are nonfunctional. If we have to engage, our port side will be susceptible to enemy missiles,” Bryan said. “We’re probably a day away from fixing the damage. I’ve got armory crews working nonstop.”

It added up to a picture that Tehrani didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone accept. Yet her duty still called. The desire to reenter the fight, help defeat the League, and save the billions of civilians on Canaan raged just under the surface of her soul. It competed with another desire—to inflict pain on the enemy and make them pay for the death and destruction they’d spread. Her mouth curled into a snarl as she thought of the judgment that awaited the so-called League of Sol.

Wright’s voice brought Tehrani out of her thoughts. “Colonel, we need to stay on stand-down.”

“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Focus your efforts on propulsion and the hangar. Shields are secondary, while the weapons are a tertiary concern.”

They stared at her quizzically.

“Getting to the battle and launching our fighters is the primary objective if the fleet needs us. In that situation, nothing else matters.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wright replied.

Some of the others appeared as if they wanted to argue, but the XO’s words carried finality.

“Thank you all,” Tehrani said. “You’re dismissed.”

As the group filed out, silence descended over the conference room. She stared at the ship’s seal on the wall along with the flag of the Terran Coalition. The Latin words of their motto Semper tempus meant “Always in Time.” I hope if the call comes, we’re able to answer.

* * *

The mess hall was busy with dozens of officers, many of them pilots. Justin just wanted to be alone. He waved at a few friendly faces, including Martin. The big Australian had a group of bomber drivers at his table, all bragging loudly about the capital ships they’d polished off.

Justin felt deep within himself that the battles weren’t over. Officially, the ship was on a damage-control hold, with repair crews laboring to repair holes in the outer hull and patch critical systems. Something in his soul kept repeating, “This isn’t over.”

So he ordered dinner and waited for the call to return to his Sabre. He replayed the previous engagements repeatedly, including Feldstein’s expert save. Without her, I’d be dead now. Still, he pondered what had caused him to go all holovid hero. The action was completely outside of his normal personality.

Whatley appeared at the side of Justin’s table. He seemed to have a stealth mode, able to mask his approach at will. “I’ve reviewed the sensor records of the battle, Lieutenant Spencer,” he began without preamble.

“Uh, yes, sir,” Justin replied. He didn’t spring to attention or rise from his seat, remembering that customs and courtesies didn’t apply in the mess. If he was being honest with himself, not showing Whatley that respect made Justin feel good. Why is he questioning me again? I got his point last time, loud and clear.

“You disobeyed a direct order and engaged multiple hostiles,” Whatley said. “While apparently ordering your wingmen and other friendly forces to bug out to home plate. Is that accurate?”

Justin set his jaw. “Yes, sir. I wanted to ensure the safety of my people as much as possible.”

“And you did that by ignoring orders?”

“Because otherwise, one of those League bombers might’ve gotten through and blown up the Greengold, sir.” Justin folded his arms. “It was the right call.”

Silence followed for a few seconds. Whatley stared at Justin, as if he’d discovered something unique about him. “I see.” He raised an eyebrow as if in deep thought. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”

As Whatley turned on his heel and strode off, Justin felt troubled by the interaction. Is the Major upset about my actions, or does he approve? It was another stress factor in an already-untenable situation. He sighed and went back to waiting for his food to arrive.

“So this is where you snuck off to,” Feldstein called.

He whirled around to see her, Mateus, and Adeoye standing a few feet behind the table. “Uh, hey, guys. Come on over. Have a seat.” He forced a smile.

“Whatley come over to rip you a new one?” Mateus asked. “He’s just mad we have more kills than he does.”

“It doesn’t all come down to kill ratios and counts,” Adeoye interjected. “There is more to flying than such metrics.” He took a seat across from Justin. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Yes. It’s not about individual performance. It’s more to do with how we function as a team.”

Feldstein pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Wow, look who’s getting gray hair,” she joked. “Whatley must be getting into your head, Spencer.”

Justin chuckled. “No.”

As they sat and bantered, some of his stress released. That he’d come face-to-face with certain death only a couple of hours before remained a strange dichotomy. He questioned repeatedly why he’d chosen to turn around and stage a last stand. The best he could come up with was a desire to see his friends survive.

“You seem like you’re pretty far away, sir,” Feldstein said, turning the conversation from jovial to somber.

“Just thinking,” Justin replied.

Mateus slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to have to step up my game,” she said. Her accented English seemed to get more of a lilt as she got progressively more exhausted by combat. “I can’t have our flight leader running up the score on me.”

The peals of laughter that erupted from the table were interrupted by the mess stewards’ bringing out the meals all four had ordered. Once each plate had been set down along with drinks, they left them to their food.

Justin picked up his fork and ate with gusto but stopped when he realized that both Feldstein and Adeoye had bowed their heads. He paused out of respect for his friends. I’ve never known either of them to pray before eating.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean for you guys to stop,” Feldstein said as she glanced up. “Just giving thanks.”

“To whom?” Mateus snorted.

“God.”

Before a debate could break out, Justin interjected, “Personally, I’m hopeful we’ll have the block on communications lifted soon.”

“I’d love to talk to Robert,” Feldstein said. “This might sound crazy, but I miss him more after every combat sortie.”

Mateus took a bite of chicken. “I can’t wait to get back out there. I am alive in the cockpit.” She bared her teeth. “It’s the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever had.”

A smart-aleck remark came to Justin’s mind, but he decided against using it. “I got my Sabre up to fourteen Gs today.”

Adeoye’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Seriously? Fourteen?” He stared. “That is incredible. Did you have any blackout symptoms?”

Justin shook his head. “None at all. I was pulling back hard, coming out of a turn and accelerating toward a bomber. It just… happened.”

“I must try that myself.”

“You never talk about having someone back on Lagos, Adeoye,” Mateus said. “Got a lucky lady?”

“I do not.” He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy with school and my CDF duties to engage in courtship.”

Mateus grinned. “If you play your cards right…”

“Okay. You two can take that conversation somewhere else.” He harrumphed.

All four of them laughed loudly, and Justin continued to find his cares and concerns fading away. It felt good to be among friends.

* * *

Nightfall came and went in Lawrence City. Each hour seemed like an eternity to Jason Nolan as he waited for word of the outcome of the battles in Canaan’s skies. He’d taken a small dinner directly in the Oval Office and was sitting quietly, staring out the window into the beautiful night sky. The skyscrapers of the metropolis stretched into the heavens. One of the primary space elevators was visible from the White House until its lights disappeared into the darkness.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Nolan called.

The door swung open, and Abdul Karimi entered alone. His face was ashen. “Sir, we need to talk.”

Nolan gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “How bad?”

“I spoke privately with General Irvine a few minutes ago,” Karimi said as he gracefully lowered himself into the seat offered. “In short, it’s not looking positive, sir. The fleet has begun a general engagement with the League forces, but while she’s publicly predicting victory to keep morale up…”

“Our chances aren’t that great?” Nolan sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Part of him wondered why he’d ever run for the presidency.

“Sir, we’re convinced it’s only a matter of time now. You should reconsider evacuation along with the entire government. The Terran Coalition has a protocol for this type of event.”

“The Exodus fleet?” Nolan had received a briefing on it during his first week in office. Conceived of as a way to ensure the continuity of government and the Terran Coalition’s way of life, it consisted of enormous people-mover starships along with long-range military escorts. “Abdul, didn’t you tell me forcefully and repeatedly how underfunded and unprepared it is?”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” Karimi put his hands on the desk. “Thirty-five years of peace has dulled our edge.” He shrugged. “It’s on all of us, sir. From the civilians to the service chiefs to the politicians over the last twenty years that constantly raided the defense budget to pay for domestic spending. I can’t help it now, but if we somehow survive, then I’ll pour my life into rebuilding the CDF into a war footing. None of that changes reality, sir. It’s time for you and the rest of the government to go. Let me stay and handle this for us all.”

Nolan sprang from his chair and walked to the windows behind it that overlooked the rest of Lawrence City. “Come here.” He pulled back the curtains and gestured. While it was dark enough that one couldn’t see the people, hundreds of thousands of tiny pinpricks of light from a candlelight vigil were visible. “We’re not leaving because they can’t.”

“Yes, sir.” Karimi pursed his lips. “And if the League defeats our fleet?”

“Then we’ll deploy the orbital defenses and launch every stratofighter Canaan has at its disposal. We will not surrender… and at some point, the nation-state ships will arrive.”

“Understood, sir,” Karimi replied. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t point out our planetary-based defenses—”

“Are out of date, weak, and poorly maintained. Yes. I know. And I’ll carry the guilt with me to my grave if I have to order those brave men and women into combat.” Nolan turned his gaze back out to the vigil. “We have to carry the day. Period. You tell Irvine to do whatever it takes.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Do you need anything from me?”

“No, sir. We should have a rolling battle report ready in fifteen minutes in the bunker. If you’d like to join us.”

Nolan nodded. “Of course. But on your way out, would you ask them to send the White House chaplain up?”

“Sir?”

“I know… I’m not much of a religious man. But I feel the need to pray with someone.”

Karimi put his hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “I got down on my knees, too, and begged for Allah’s intercession.” He squeezed it. “We’ll get through this, sir.”

“I pray to God you’re right.”

12

One of the newer features of the Zvika Greengold, owing to its status as the de facto training carrier for the CDF, was a complete battle-simulation area with integrated holoprojectors. Capable of displaying any portion of a battle built from the information recorded from all friendly assets, it allowed an observer to see precisely what had happened—which was what Major Gabriel Whatley was doing at 2200 hours.

He’d been sure that Lieutenant Spencer was nothing more than a blowhard faker, skating by with only a passing interest in doing his duty. His assessments of people were rarely wrong, and Spencer’s service jacket screamed, “Here for the free school.” Still, a man such as that didn’t risk his life for others. So there Whatley was, going over and over Spencer’s actions. They painted a picture in stark relief to Whatley’s opinion. Not only was the man brave, he was also good.

A new voice jolted Whatley out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Tehrani standing in the open hatch. Jumping to his feet, he came to attention. “Apologies, ma’am. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Tehrani stepped into the room. “As you were, Major. I heard you were down here and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Just peachy, ma’am.”

She took a seat on one of the observer chairs and stared at him. “Oh? Then why aren’t you in bed, where you ordered our pilots to be? Because we all need our rest.”

“Ah. You know me too well after eighteen months.” Whatley leaned his head back. “I was second-guessing myself. I’ve been coming down hard on Lieutenant Spencer. Frankly, I don’t think he’s CDF front-line material.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I saw the transfer request you put in my queue. It’s brutal.” Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “Yet he’s got what? Twenty-three combat victories and assists? That doesn’t sound like a poor pilot to me.”

“Ma’am, I bleed CDF. Cut me open, and you’ll find a Terran Coalition flag holding me together.” He snickered. “I have little room for people who aren’t here for the right reasons.”

“And until two days ago, who exactly did we have for enemies? We’re the de facto regional superpower. No alien empire or human megacorp would dare fight the Terran Coalition.” Tehrani held his gaze. It wasn’t quite a stare-down, but her expression was fierce. “I’d submit for your consideration that you’re too hard on the kid.”

“Yeah. That’s what I was in here pondering.” He gestured to the simulator system. “Typically, people who only care about themselves won’t go the extra mile in combat. It takes a special person to lay down their life for another.”

“I thought Christ’s gospel was mostly about that concept.”

“Right, and most of us Christians are good at it?” Whatley snorted. “The Terran Coalition’s become lax, ma’am. We’re drifting away from our ideals and ethics. The new generation is soft. I’d even say weak.” He thought of the endless holovid-reality programs that were consumed in ever greater quantities and the difficulties the CDF had in even hitting its recruiting targets—so much so that they’d started lowering the requirements to get in. Or the often-quoted statistics that religious belief was on the decline, and every year, fewer people attended church, their mosque, or synagogue.

“We’re going to have to get better at it, Major.” Tehrani shook her head. “I’ve seen the news trying to spin this as a flash in the pan, and that once… if we defeat this enemy fleet, this League of Sol will want to talk peace.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t buy a word of it. We’re going to find ourselves in a war for survival.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Whatley had already considered what was coming next. He figured they had a Saurian War–type situation in store, if not worse. The Saurians at least had honor. They told you they were coming, declared war, then fought it out. An enemy that skulked about in the night, hidden, to stab you in the back had no honor and could never be trusted. The only way they could safely end the war was with Earth’s unconditional surrender. Hopefully, our piece-of-crap politicians know that.

“Now, back to the young lieutenant. I heard you tore a bloody strip out of him after he landed.” While Tehrani’s facial expression was perfectly neutral, even friendly, Whatley knew her well. Her tone was one of mild reproach, but her leadership style was for you to see the error of your ways before she had to spell it out.

And Gabriel Whatley, above all things, hated admitting he was wrong. That made his next words especially difficult. “You’re right, Colonel. Whatever he may have had in his head when he joined, it’s clear the man is a superb pilot.” He sighed. “And we’re lucky to have him right now.”

“So you’re going to apologize, yes?”

Whatley’s face heated. “Ma’am…”

“Contriteness is good for the soul, Gabriel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He figured she’d used his first name for emphasis.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. But Spencer needs to know you’ve got his back. Especially when we go into this next battle.”

“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.” Whatley searched for the hidden meaning behind her facial expression. “I thought Irvine’s orders were that we stay in the emergency reserve.”

“Call it a woman’s intuition,” Tehrani replied with a shrug. “I don’t see any way we’re not needed. And I want this ship and our pilots ready when it happens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, pack this in, go back to your stateroom, and get some shut-eye. At least four hours.”

“Well—”

“That is a direct order, Major.” Tehrani tilted her head as she spoke. “The last time I checked, the CAG reports to me, and I outrank you. So… carry out my orders.”

Whatley offered a sheepish grin. “Yes, ma’am.” He powered off the simulator and stood. “Ladies first.”

“Oh, no. I’m watching you leave. I know you flyboys far too well.”

“Touché.”

As they walked through the hatch, Tehrani pivoted and stared directly into his eyes. “Major, promise me one thing. When this next battle finally occurs, you bring as many of our pilots home as possible. We’ve already lost too many.”

“On that, you have my solemn word, ma’am.” Whatley meant it with every fiber of his being.

* * *

For the first time in nearly forty-eight hours, Tehrani crossed the threshold of her spacious stateroom below decks. Situated deep within the Greengold, the officers’ quarters were placed in a location unlikely to be hit by a surprise volley of weapons fire—a nod to the CDF’s concerns over losing too many leaders on a vessel in one strike.

Her quarters were more like an apartment than a cabin, with separate living and dining spaces and a bedroom. Once the hatch closed, she stretched, letting out a yawn, and took off her khaki service uniform, which had the green, white, and red bars of the Persian Republic above the Islamic Crescent and Star.

Ten minutes later, Tehrani had showered and changed into a pair of pajamas. She curled up in her bed and pulled a personal tablet out of the nightstand. Her finger hovered over the button to call up the vidlink app. The ship is on comms blackout. She went back and forth several times before pushing the icon and placing a call to her husband. If I die in the next few hours, I want him to know I love him. The rest be damned.

An icon appeared on the screen, showing the vidlink in progress. It changed color to a black background and finally to the face of Ibrahim, her husband. His brown beard and hair looked almost faded, as if he’d aged since Tehrani had last seen him. “Dearest,” he began as he fumbled with his tablet. “I’ve been so worried. Thank Allah, you are alive and presumably well.”

Seeing and hearing him made so many things better for Tehrani. She felt as if her spirit had taken off for the stars. She laughed. “I’m alive. We’re stood down between operations,” she said, carefully avoiding the use of words like combat, not wanting to alarm him further. “What about you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I shouldn’t be now, but… I miss you so much.”

He harrumphed. “What did you do, Banu?”

“I’m the commander of the ship. I overrode the comms lockout.” Tehrani cocked her head to one side. “Rank has its privileges.”

“The university is in an uproar,” Ibrahim stated. He was a professor of economics at the Arabian Institute on Canaan. “There’s little in the way of accurate reporting.”

He’s asking me what’s really going on. Tehrani touched her fingers to the screen, trying to feel him through the distance between them. “Husband, I can’t tell you anything, except we’re holding our own. Pray for us.”

“I didn’t think we were much the praying type.”

Neither of them was especially devout, and while Tehrani prayed a few times a day—never the five required—it was more of a cultural ritual than devotion to God. “Flying into…” She didn’t want to mention the word battle. “Danger demands additional faith.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll debate that with you when you return, and your reasoning.”

“Can’t wait,” she replied sarcastically then smiled sadly. “I miss you.”

“We both miss you too.”

They had no children, only a dog. She’d decided long ago not to bring a child into the universe while serving as a CDF officer, especially as promotions came through. That would all change in six months, when her twenty years were up and a well-earned retirement was due. If I get to retire. In an all-out war, it probably won’t be in the cards.

Tears almost came as she remembered happier days. “I’d better disconnect this before someone realizes what I’m doing.”

“I love you, Banu.”

“I love you too.” Tehrani leaned in and made an air kiss at the tablet. Ibrahim did the same.

Then the screen went black.

Left with her thoughts, Tehrani lay back on the bed, trying to force herself to sleep. The idea of an occupied Terran Coalition, where the way of life they had and the freedoms and privileges held dear by every citizen suddenly ceased to exist overnight, was terrifying. She fought to turn her mind off so that she could rest. It took a while, but eventually, she fell into a deep slumber in which she was haunted by nightmares of the Zvika Greengold exploding from battle damage. After several hours of the recurring dream, she got up and returned to duty.

13

Tehrani lifted her mug of hot CDF coffee to her lips and took a sip. The coffee was bitter and intense, just the way she liked it. Around her, the bridge was a beehive of activity. The damaged consoles were mostly repaired, though a small crew of enlisted personnel continued to replace wiring in a secondary fire-control system that handled the starboard point-defense weapons. She’d been in her chair a good hour after touring the vessel, visiting the Imam in the chapel, and finally ending up on the bridge. It was almost 0500 Coalition Mean Time, which meant that most of the first-watch personnel would wake up shortly.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh called. He’d been standing watch all night. “I’m getting fleet-link requests from the Victory.”

General Irvine’s flagship. “Plug us in, Lieutenant. If nothing else, we’ll get to watch the battle unfold. Put the feed into our holotank.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The central holotank came to life with a view of the battlefield roughly one hundred million kilometers away. Blue and red icons, representing friendly and hostile forces respectively, sprang into being. Tehrani had never seen so many live contacts on a sensor readout. It was mind-boggling how many ships were out there, slugging it out with one another. She watched as groups of vessels charged forward on both sides then retreated only when many of them disappeared from the screen. The realization that each one of the blue dots represented hundreds or even thousands of lives shook her to the core. My fellow soldiers are dying by the thousands. More than anything, she wanted to do something.

The battle continued for almost two hours with nothing but volley and retreat, and through it all, Tehrani took cold comfort that far more red icons were disappearing than blue. Additional watchstanders arrived, as did Wright. Little was said. Each time the Leaguers destroyed a friendly vessel, she whispered a prayer in Arabic for their souls. Then all the dots moved. Nearly half an hour later, what was happening finally dawned on her. General Irvine had caught a flotilla of enemy ships out of place and mousetrapped them. The bold maneuver opened a hole in the League’s lines, and a squadron of destroyers and cruisers charged through.

After that, all hell broke loose. The enemy commander closed the hole, cut off the forward units, and shredded them. Not a single vessel made it back to CDF lines. Tehrani felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart as each blue icon disappeared. Worst of all, she could do nothing.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh said, interrupting her mental anguish. “General distress transmission from CSV Victory, ma’am.”

“Put it on.” Tehrani returned to the CO’s chair as she spoke. She absentmindedly took a sip of coffee then realized it had long been cold and nearly spat it out.

“Audio only, ma’am.”

A few moments later, the transmission began, filled with static. “This is General Irvine, to any CDF or friendly military vessels in range. The League of Sol has broken our battle line, and we’re falling back to Canaan. If you can help us, even if your ship is small or damaged, we’ll take anything we can get. Civilian ships with weapons who are willing to fight are welcome. We must hold the line by any means necessary. I call on all citizens of the Terran Coalition to do their part to ensure our nation survives. Irvine out.”

Tehrani turned to Wright. “Repair status, Major?”

“Ma’am, we’re still not combat capable.” The words fell out of Wright’s mouth like a hammer. “Half of our point-defense emplacements don’t work, shields are at half strength, and so are the engines.”

She set her jaw. “Does the Lawrence drive function?”

“Yes, ma’am, but—”

“Can we launch fighters?” Tehrani asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And they’re all on ready five, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then we’re going.” Tehrani smoothed her black command sweater. “Worst-case scenario, we can drop our fighters and bombers off then get out.”

“Banu,” Wright whispered, “I’ll follow you to the gates of hell. You know I respect you and your abilities. But this is a jump too far. We’ve got what? Thirty-one small craft left? Our pilots are reservists. We’ve done our job. Let the big boys fight it out. We can’t affect the outcome of this battle. We should make for Canaan orbit and contribute our fighters to the fray there, if the fleet falls.”

His motivation was pure, and the argument resonated. But it clashed with duty, and duty won. “No. Our pilots could turn the tide or hold the line until the reinforcements arrive. We’re going.”

“You’re the skipper,” Wright said, his mouth in a tight line. “Promise me you won’t sacrifice the crew in a needless gesture.”

“Never.”

“Thank you.”

Tehrani shifted her gaze back toward the front of the bridge and the darkness of space. Allah help us all. She cleared her throat. “Communications, get me 1MC.”

“Tied in, ma’am,” Singh reported.

She stared at the mic built into her chair. “Attention all hands, this is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters. General quarters. This is not a drill. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set condition one throughout the ship.” She paused. “The fleet has called for help, and the CSV Zvika Greengold will answer the call. I know the last twenty-four hours have been hell for all of us. I do not take this action lightly, but it’s what we all signed up for when we raised our hands and took the oath. Do your duty. Fight hard. Fight well. Make me proud. Tehrani out.”

The lights on the bridge turned blue and dimmed as the general-quarters klaxon tolled. A moment later, Bryan turned around. “Conn, TAO. Condition one set throughout the ship.”

Tehrani nodded. “Energize our shields. Charge the energy-weapons capacitor. Navigation, plot a Lawrence drive jump to the fleet’s projected location ten minutes from now.” She punched another button on the CO’s chair. “Major Whatley, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am. I’m on my way to the hangar deck now.”

“I want everything we’ve got ready to launch in ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tehrani out.”

All that remained was to wait. The next ten minutes were an eternity.

* * *

With the general-quarters klaxon still ringing in his ears, Justin rushed into the flight bay, helmet in hand. Pandemonium was all around him as crew chiefs, munitions techs, and maintenance team members rushed about, performing last checks on the thirty-one combat spacecraft left on the Zvika Greengold. Resolutely, he trudged toward his Sabre. Pockmarked and charred in several places but still operational, it sat like a chariot of old, waiting to carry him into battle. It looks about like I feel.

“Attention on deck!”

Justin turned to see Major Whatley standing at the front of the flight line, holding a portable public-address amplifier in his hand.

“Pilots, front and center!” Whatley’s voice reverberated off the alloy walls of the hangar and caused everyone to turn toward him.

The rest of the pilot cadre formed into neat rows. Justin joined them and came to attention.

“As you were,” Whatley began in his gruff tone. The major appeared worried, with dark rings under his eyes. “I’m not here to sugarcoat this, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve been called on because the fleet is close to being overwhelmed. We’re going up against extreme odds.” He paused. “I know most of you young’uns don’t remember, but I’ve been CDF for fifteen years. My father was CDF for thirty years. He fought the Saurians in both wars. He told me stories about going into battle, outnumbered three to one in fighters that didn’t even have shields. He and his pilots told each other they were going to fight the good fight, no matter the odds. They believed God was at their side and would guarantee victory.”

Justin glanced around to those on his right and left. Worried faces greeted him.

“That’s what we’re going to do today. In a few minutes, the Zvika Greengold will drop out of her Lawrence drive wormhole, and we’re all launching—including me. We’ll stand together, fight together, and prevail together. I know you’re reservists, and we weren’t prepared for this. But all of you”—Whatley made eye contact with Justin—“have performed superbly. In every engagement so far, our air wing has acquitted itself better than it had any right to. It’s an honor to fly alongside and lead you. So, men and women of the Greengold’s flight wing… man your craft! Fight like there’s no tomorrow, because there isn’t if we fail.” His voice rose. “Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”

Out of nowhere, the entire company shouted, “No matter the odds!” The tumult shook the deck plating.

“Now, get out there and kick those Leaguer bastards back to Earth, where they belong! Dismissed!” Whatley yelled, and they all took off running.

Justin dodged several crew chiefs then slid to a stop next to his Sabre.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he whirled around to see Whatley.

“Lieutenant, I want to shake the hand of a brave man.”

For a moment, Justin froze, then he took Whatley’s hand, gripping it firmly. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve been rough on you, perhaps undeservedly. You’ve done well and fought bravely. Good luck out there, and Godspeed.”

As Whatley turned to go, Justin said, “Sir, wait. You were right. I joined for the wrong reasons.” He bit his lip. “But I’m fighting for the right ones now.”

“I know.” He held up a finger. “Don’t think for a minute this means I’m easing up on you.”

“Of course not, sir,” Justin replied with a grin.

“Mount up, son. Give ’em hell.”

Justin slotted his helmet into the O-ring at the neck of his flight suit and climbed the small ladder leading to the cockpit. Once he’d slid down into the seat, he looked over the side and gave a thumbs-up.

The crew chief returned the gesture and triggered the sequence to seal the cockpit’s windows while Whatley watched.

Out of the corner of Justin’s eye, he caught Whatley saluting him. He quickly turned and snapped off a salute of his own. A wave of emotion washed over him as he realized how much the respect of the older officer meant. As the major stalked off, Justin started his preflight checklist. Halfway through, he stopped and pulled out the small paper photo of Michelle and his daughter he’d printed earlier in the day and affixed it to an uncovered portion of his flight controls, in a position that didn’t obstruct any instruments. This is what I’m fighting for.

* * *

While the pilots readied for battle, Tehrani sat in the CO’s chair, bathed in blue light from the overhead and counting down the minutes and seconds till they jumped. Additional damage-control teams along with additional watchstanders had reported to the bridge several minutes ago, answering the call for battle stations. They had little left to do but wait.

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called.

Tehrani sucked in a breath and turned to Wright. “Ready?”

“I think the proper answer is ‘Yeah, it’s what we trained for.’ But I’d be lying if I said I ever thought we’d be in another war within my lifetime.” Wright forced a smile. “Just our luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” Tehrani replied. Her eyes went back to the small monitor above her head. “Navigation, reconfirm jump coordinates.”

“Triple-checked, ma’am. We’re ready to go.”

“Navigation, engage Lawrence drive.”

The lights dimmed as the FTL system drew massive amounts of power from the Greengold’s energy-distribution system. Directly ahead of them, an artificial wormhole whirled into being. Its coloration changed by the second from green to blue to red and every color in between.

“Conn, Navigation. Wormhole stable, ma’am.”

“Take us in,” Tehrani replied as she exhaled. “Best speed.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The wormhole appeared to grow as they approached, an optical illusion of the swirling vortex. The Zvika Greengold crossed the event horizon and, not more than a second later, appeared on the other side. Disruption from the transit disabled sensors and shields, something that vexed all known users of the Lawrence drive, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Conn, TAO. Sensors online. Transit complete. Within five thousand kilometers of target,” Bryan said. “We’re slightly behind the CDF battle line and roughly a thousand kilometers from the flagship.”

“Navigation,” Tehrani said as she leaned forward, “intercept course, Sierra Seventy-Eight.” The icon indicated a battleship-class vessel, and it had a lot of League small craft around it. After a few seconds, the IFF transponder identified the ship as the CSV Conqueror. She grinned. It’s only right that we ride to their rescue once more after they saved us.

“Course set, ma’am.”

“Max thrust.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied. “Ion engines still answer at fifty percent of nominal output.” There was a great deal of fear in her voice.

“Keep trying for more, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “As the engineers make repairs, the thrust potential should go up. If not, we’ll make do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tehrani sat back in her seat, glancing between the tactical plot and the watchstanders around her. Some quick mental arithmetic told her it was time to get their fighters in space. She punched the intercom button on the CO’s chair, linking into Whatley’s Sabre. “Major, this is Colonel Tehrani.”

“Go ahead, ma’am.”

“Readiness status?”

“All my pilots are strapped in and awaiting launch orders.”

“You’re cleared to launch, Major. Godspeed and good hunting.” The use of the old terminology, for some reason, felt comforting to Tehrani.

“Acknowledged. Same to you, Colonel.”

14

With his preflight checks completed, Justin adjusted inside the Sabre’s cockpit. They were minutes or perhaps only seconds away from combat. He’d checked, rechecked, and triple-checked every aspect of his craft. All weapons hardpoints were full, and all systems were go. He had nothing left to do except wait.

“Anyone know who Zvika Greengold was, anyway?” Mateus asked.

Justin welcomed the distraction. “Didn’t you read the introduction email from the ship’s automated greeter when we reported aboard?” he replied.

“Nah, I was too busy getting ready to smoke all of you in our final flight tryouts.”

Snickers filled the commlink.

“Zvika Greengold was an Israeli tank commander during a war on Earth,” Feldstein interjected.

“More than that,” Justin replied. “What I read said he took on hundreds of enemy armored vehicles with one tank. He fought for days with little support and was burned over thirty percent of his body. Historians credit him with nearly single-handedly saving the Jewish state.”

“That fits somehow,” Adeoye said, “as we have repeatedly gone up against superior forces and won.”

Justin pondered Adeoye’s words. What’s in a name? Perhaps the knowledge they served on a ship named after a man who’d performed heroic deeds made them all want to live up to his example.

A quick burst of acceleration from the carrier cut the conversation short. This is it. The knowledge that they were riding into an emergency in which everything hung in the balance wasn’t lost on him. What’s that my dad used to say? “We’re playing for all the marbles.”

“All fighters, launch, launch, launch!” Whatley thundered.

The forcefields protecting the hangar bay snapped off, and Justin jammed the throttle on his Sabre to maximum thrust. Pitching forward, the craft zoomed out of the flight deck and into space. Behind him, the rest of Alpha element followed along with the rest of their squadron. The stream of fighters and bombers exiting the carrier was a sight he’d never seen before. Typical flight operations limited launches to four to eight small craft at a time and never over twelve.

Justin gripped his flight stick tightly as he took in the scene before him. Hundreds of capital ships arrayed in line formations were battling it out. Crisscrossing beams of blue streaked across the blackness of the void, while thousands of red plasma balls answered them. Plumes of exhaust from large missiles could barely be seen, and tiny orange explosions dotted the sky. It took him a moment to process the explosions as fighters and bombers in their death throes. Hopefully more of them than ours.

Whatley’s voice broke through Justin’s thoughts. “All Greengold squadrons, this is Major Whatley. The CSV Conqueror—our old friend—is getting lit up by League bombers, bearing zero-two-eight. Engage max thrust and afterburners. Red Tails, you have the lead.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” Justin replied. He slid his craft to the heading indicated and toggled the afterburner. “Alpha, keep up. Beta and Gamma, maintain formation. Alpha and Beta will engage hostile bombers. Gamma—your objective is the League fighters. Good hunting!”

The Sabre rocketed forward, and he slammed back in his seat. Ugh. I think they forgot to fix my inertial dampers. It certainly felt as if there was a bit more weight on his chest than the maneuver would typically cause.

Flying through the void of space with the battle raging all around him was surreal. Justin almost felt as if he were in a simulator. A friendly destroyer exploded off his port side, sending waves of flame and debris into the path of his fighter. As he juked around it, two League ships blew up simultaneously. Grimly determined to add his own charges to the butcher’s bill, Justin pressed on.

“Spencer, watch your HUD,” Whatley cautioned. “A squadron of Leaguers is headed straight for you.”

“Aye, sir,” Justin said. His eyes went to the HUD, and sure enough, a cluster of red dots was inbound. “Red Tails, tally ho. Bandits at twelve o’clock high.”

The enemy fighters were coming in from above the Z plane his squadron was on, and he pitched up slightly to line them up head-on.

“Reinforce shields forward, stand by for max range, and engage. We’ll take one pass and break through to our actual target—the bombers.”

As the range continued to close, Justin reflected on how calm he felt. There he was, flying into the mouth of hell, yet he felt as cool as a cucumber. I wonder if this makes me a veteran.

With a wry grin, he settled onto the leading League craft. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three.” Two LIDAR active-tracking missiles dropped from the internal weapons bay and zoomed away from his Sabre. He’d toggled the dual-fire option on, remembering from previous engagements that it took two direct hits to kill one of the fast-moving enemies. A few moments later, he was rewarded with a minor explosion.

“Alpha element engaged! Press through them, people. Gamma, cover our six. Next stop is those bombers.” He used the HUD’s interface to highlight a group of three craft on an attack run toward the Conqueror, labeled as Sierra Two Hundred Thirty-Six on the display.

The battle raged around Alpha element but not directly with it. As Justin pressed on with the other three fighters in a tight finger-four formation, his Sabre’s sensors detected multiple anti-ship missiles launched from the bombers they were racing toward. At the range they were at, neither he nor the other pilots could do anything to intervene. All three warheads hit the Conqueror, impacting brightly on its shields and generating an EMP wave.

Fusion warheads, most likely. He cued his commlink. “Max afterburners. We’ve got to get to intercept range.”

“Roger. Wilco,” Feldstein replied.

“Save me a few, Spencer,” Mateus said with a snicker. “I can’t have you running up the kill score on me.”

Justin couldn’t help but laugh. Her single-minded focus on destroying Leaguers at least put things into perspective. Once his afterburner ran out of charge, he kept pulsing it, pushing the device to its limit. The split second that the targeting reticle turned green, he held down the trigger for his fighter’s neutron cannons. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns!”

Toggling the ordnance selector, Justin armed the dumb-fire rockets and added them to the fusillade. Several hits later, the enemy bomber exploded. “Alpha One, splash one.” With a slight roll, he slid behind the nearest enemy and opened fire once more.

“I said to save one for me, Spencer.” Mateus chortled. “Alpha Four, splash one!”

The bomber directly in front of Justin exploded as he took his finger off the firing trigger, and he pulled up relative to the explosion to avoid a rapidly expanding fireball and debris field. “Alpha One, splash two!”

He looped his Sabre back around and checked the HUD. More enemy fighters and bombers were already clearing their respective hangar bays, while the dozens of capital ships he could see exchanged directed-energy weapons fire. Blue and red shield effects lit up the void, bathing everything in an eerie glow. The result was almost beautiful. Justin picked a new target and designated the unlucky fighter as a priority intercept for the rest of Alpha element. The four craft turned as one and accelerated into the thick of the fight.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Sierra One Hundred Fifty-Eight destroyed,” Bryan reported. The bridge shook from plasma-ball impacts, as the Leaguers had found them almost as soon as the damaged carrier emerged from its Lawrence drive wormhole. That was also the third friendly vessel blown up in the last sixty seconds.

Tehrani stared at the tactical plot. She could do precious little to change the outcome of the battle. Her pilots were committed, and the lack of anti-ship weaponry on the Greengold was telling. The nearest enemy ship in range was a small frigate, and it was being pummeled by bombers as well as the Conqueror’s magnetic cannons. Might as well help see those bastards off. “TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Six Hundred Seventy-Three. Forward neutron beams.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Firing solutions set.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Two blue spears shot out of the Zvika Greengold’s bow, crossed the void at the speed of light, and slammed into the hull of the enemy frigate. In one side and out the other, they cut through its brittle hull like a hot knife through butter. Moments later, the vessel exploded in a chain reaction of orange-and-blue flames that quickly vanished in the darkness of space.

Out of the corner of Tehrani’s eye, a blue dot marked as disabled and very close to the center of the League fleet started moving. At first, she thought it was an optical illusion or a sensor echo. She zoomed in the plot to see the icon labeled as the CSV Salamis. The info box attached to it proclaimed Major Levi Cohen as the commanding officer. A reservist. Lots of those in action today. By Allah, that ship dates back to the Saurian Wars. She realized they must’ve pulled it out of the emergency-reserve mothball fleet. What could the old destroyer possibly accomplish? “TAO, can you ascertain the course for Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight?”

Bryan turned around after a few seconds. “She’s on a direct collision course with Master One, ma’am.”

Yes. The flagship. That would make sense. A shiver went down Tehrani’s spine. Irvine had gone after the enemy dreadnought at the center of their formation, but it had decimated her attack force. The destroyer must’ve been disabled in that attack. And now a group of brave men and women plan to finish the job, no matter the cost.

“Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from General Irvine. She requests any vessels able to provide cover fire for Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight do so immediately.”

Tehrani made eye contact with Singh. “Send to commander, CSV Salamis… Godspeed, and may Allah take you into paradise.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. LIDAR effects… aspect change, new Lawrence drive wormholes opening.” Bryan’s tone changed to one of surprise. “Terran Coalition signature but not CDF. They look like armed merchant vessels, ma’am. New contacts are heading toward the nearest enemy vessels and powering up their weapons.”

“God help ’em. Freighters, I don’t care how up-gunned they are, aren’t designed for fleet combat,” Wright whispered. “That takes some guts.”

“Too many heroes,” Tehrani replied softly. “May we remember them.”

“I’ll settle for God helping us blow these assholes to hell.” Wright crossed his arms. “Apologies for the language, ma’am.”

For once, Tehrani couldn’t agree more. The battle continued.

15

Amid a stream of blue neutron cannon bolts, the League fighter directly ahead of Justin’s craft exploded in a bright-orange ball of flame. Debris no bigger than a standard tablet spread out and, as he zoomed through the cloud, smacked into his Sabre. It sounded like a heavy rain coming down on an alloy roof. Justin scanned his HUD, searching for his next target. It had been like that the entire battle, one tail-turning dogfight after another. “Alpha One, splash one bandit.”

“Alpha Two, splash one,” Feldstein called. She’d broken off to engage a flight of League heavy bombers, and all the Alpha-element pilots were using the dumb-fire-rocket trick first discovered by Adeoye—which was great, at least while the pods lasted.

The personal victories couldn’t mask the overall situation of the fleet, however. Justin kept fighting like a man possessed, but it did little to alter the battle on a large scale. Ship after ship from the CDF side either exploded or was forced to jump out on an emergency basis—a risky proposition even a few minutes inside the Lawrence limit. The unlucky ones blew up anyway during the jump attempts.

In the distance, a single friendly contact accelerated blindly toward the League fleet—Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight. The vessel seemed to be in a sweet spot, too far away from the enemy escorts for them to catch up and too close for the massive battleship at the center of the formation to engage.

“Now, that takes some balls,” Whatley said.

“I wouldn’t want to be the commander of that destroyer,” Justin replied quietly. “There has to be a better way. A way to win and get to go home.”

“Not always, son. If you were watching carefully, you’d know Cohen ordered his crew to abandon ship. Pay attention, because that’s how a real officer deals with things like what we’re facing.”

The ultimate sacrifice. Justin, in the heat of the moment only a few hours before, had been willing to make it. But something was different about staging a last stand against the enemy and the inevitable death from ramming another warship. At least in his mind, Justin was still in control, even when fighting that last stand against incredible odds. He told himself that to make it feel better.

Another enemy fighter wandered into range of his forward HUD, and he rocked his Sabre toward it. “Alpha One, engaging hostile LIDAR spike, heading zero-eight-two, range fifty kilometers.”

As Justin hit his afterburner control and raced forward, Mateus fell into formation off his starboard side. The closer they got, the better resolution his fighter’s onboard sensor suite got, and what had initially appeared to be one fighter turned out to be a group of four. “Alpha Four, watch yourself. We’re outnumbered two to one.”

“Target-rich environment, Lieutenant,” Mateus crowed. “Just like I like it.”

“So you keep saying,” Justin mumbled.

The missile reticule on his HUD changed color, indicating that they were close enough to get a solid lock-on. After a few seconds, the tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called while simultaneously pressing the launch button. A Vulture raced away from his Sabre in target-acquisition mode. It took a moment for the warhead to track and explode against the lead enemy’s shields. Following up with a barrage of neutron cannon bolts, he assumed another quick victory was on the horizon.

But the Leaguer pilots were made of slightly sterner stuff. All four broke sharply, scattering their formation. A few of Justin’s shots hit, but most sailed wide of the target. The first enemy fighter reduced his forward momentum and squeezed off a barrage of red energy bolts, and Justin’s craft overshot.

Justin rocked his flight stick and accelerated, turning out of the incoming fire and reversing his course with a pitchback maneuver. The other pilot was completely surprised and fell behind. Justin let out a breath and glanced at Mateus’s position on his HUD. Another enemy craft was matching her move for move as she attempted a high-speed scissors attack. The dots exchanged places several times, but the hostile was obviously gaining position on her.

“Lieutenant, he’s almost got you. Break left and pull out. I’ll swing over and run him down.”

“Oh no, you don’t, Spencer. I will not be denied this kill,” she replied.

As she was speaking, the Leaguer matched her turn and cut his speed. He settled behind her six o’clock and fired his energy weapons repeatedly, scoring multiple hits on Mateus’s shields. The pilot followed up with a dual heat-seeking missile launch. Despite her best effort, both warheads exploded near her Sabre.

“This is Alpha Four declaring an emergency!” Mateus practically shouted. “Master alarm… my reactor is going critical. I’m punching out.” After a burst of static, silence followed.

On Justin’s HUD, the icon representing Alpha Four blinked out of existence. “Mateus, can you hear me? Mateus?” He paused and sucked in a breath. “Mateus?” Dammit. She’s gone. He hoped against hope that the escape pod had gotten far enough away before the reactor went hypercritical. A moment of sadness was replaced by rage as he rotated his Sabre—just in time to see the enemy pilot performing a barrel roll, presumably in celebration of his kill. We’ll see about that, you son of a bitch. Justin kicked the afterburners up and quickly did the mental geometry required to calculate his course to intercept. He caught the craft as it looped around and loosed a barrage of blue neutron-cannon shots. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.”

Several bolts connected with their target, creating bright-red shield effects on the enemy fighter before it rolled away. Justin followed the craft, pitching down and slowing his forward speed. In the back of his brain, something reminded him that sacrificing speed in a multi-fighter combat situation was a bad idea. He paid it no heed and pressed on. As Justin veered in and out of his Sabre’s firing arc, he squeezed the trigger, sending more fire toward the Leaguer. The few that hit urged him onward to more. Tighter and tighter he turned, losing more speed as he fought to stay on the aft of the enemy craft, who adopted what a CDF pilot would call a guns-D strategy of wild course changes.

In the midst of it all, the missile-alert tone sounded. Justin scanned his HUD, and his eyes widened with shock. Two heat-seeking missiles were less than five hundred meters away, and right behind them, three League fighters streaked toward him. Oh shit.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six is coming about. She’s locked onto us, ma’am.”

Tehrani gripped the armrests of the CO’s chair as she pondered Bryan’s report. The League heavy cruiser had taken a firing pass on the Conqueror and broken off presumably to recharge its shields and was in their face, flinging plasma balls at every friendly vessel in range. “Has Sierra Ninety-Six engaged?”

“Not yet, ma’am,” Bryan replied quickly.

“Communications, request Sierra Ninety-Six redirect all fire to Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh said. A moment later, he looked over his console at her. “Message delivered. Flash traffic from commander, CSV Conqueror—will launch an alpha strike in thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds until all hell rains down on the enemy. Tehrani grinned fiercely. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six. I want you to target their weakest armor points and aim for the hangar bay. We’ll wait to shoot until the Conqueror works her magic. Clear?”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Wright leaned in and whispered into her ear, “You realize CDF CONOPS is the carriers stay out of the fighting, right?” While he delivered the words with a calm smile, he had an edge to his voice.

“Of course. They also don’t cover a situation like this,” Tehrani replied.

“Our shields are down to thirty-two percent, skipper.”

“Ask me what’s really on your mind, Benjamin.” She hoped the use of his first name would defuse any tension.

“What’s your plan B?”

“Emergency Lawrence drive jump out, with as many of our fighters as can make it back in sixty seconds.”

Wright’s face turned pale. “That’s it?”

“That’s all there is. Just like last time.”

He nodded and pursed his lips. “I know you’re right. But God…”

“What’s the old saw, XO? War is hell.” Tehrani turned her attention back to the tactical plot above her head. The CDF ships—those that hadn’t been destroyed already—maintained a cohesive battle line and gamely engaged the advancing enemy forces. But they were up against so many League vessels. For every one they neutralized, four more took its place, like an onrushing tsunami. The rate of loss they’re taking… why do they do it? For that matter, why is this so-called League of Sol even here? What has the Terran Coalition possibly done to them to justify an all-out sneak attack? She vaguely recalled bits of information from history lessons in school about communist empires on old Earth that had conquered only for the sake of trying to take over the world. I guess some things never change.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Sierra Ninety-Six. She’s preparing an alpha strike, ma’am. I show all magnetic-cannon turrets ready to fire along with her neutron beams.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Confirm firing solution on Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am. I’m targeting its hangar bay as instructed.”

A group of four fast-moving blue dots labeled Delta veered toward the enemy heavy cruiser on Tehrani’s monitor. They were Mauler-class bombers. Martin appeared to be timing his attack to match up with the Conqueror’s. How quickly we’re all turning into veterans. She stole a glance at the icon for the CSV Salamis. It continued to accelerate, its course unchanged—straight at the League flagship.

“Conn, TAO. Sierra Ninety-Six is prosecuting the target.”

The Conqueror—battered, with its armor plating burned and melted—was like a prizefighter that didn’t know when to quit. Her weapons blazed defiance as blue neutron beams erupted from her hull and connected with the League vessel. Coupled with a volley of a dozen missiles and thirty magnetic-cannon shells, the impacts rained down on its protective shields. At some point during the bombardment, the shields failed, and hits landed on the armor plating of the cruiser.

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, neutron beams.” Tehrani leaned forward as she spoke. The timing had to be perfect.

Twin blue energy beams shot out of the Greengold and lanced through the hangar bay of the enemy ship. A small series of explosions blossomed around the hull nearest to the hangar. One after the other, the bursts of orange-and-blue flames grew until the stern of the vessel blew clean off.

“Conn, TAO. Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six neutralized.”

“Nice shooting, Lieutenant. What’s coming in next?”

“Three more destroyers, ma’am, designated—”

“TAO?” Tehrani prodded.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight is on terminal approach. She’s less than fifty kilometers from Master One.”

Tehrani quickly brought up the tactical plot and zoomed in to the area around the League flagship. The screen was impersonal, an antiseptic display of blue and red dots, with relevant information such as speed and heading. She imagined that the enemy was flinging everything they could at the destroyer, which was little more than a speck among giants. The bravery shown by Major Cohen, a man she only knew by name, was awe-inspiring. To ride into the face of certain death took incredible guts. Or balls, as I’m sure the master chief would say. As the kilometers closed in the blink of an eye, Tehrani mouthed a prayer in Arabic, asking Allah to watch over the souls of Cohen and his crew and guide them into heaven. The blue icon representing the Salamis merged with the red graphic that represented Master One.

“Conn, TAO. Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight… destroyed.” Bryan’s voice sank, then it rose again. “Aspect change, Master One. Multiple explosions, ma’am. Debris separating. She’s disabled! Repeat, enemy flagship disabled!”

Hope was a fickle thing. Sometimes it manifested as grim determination to press on and at other times as ebullient optimism. On the bridge of the Zvika Greengold, it was a bit of both. The enlisted personnel and several senior officers let out a series of cheers. Bryan high-fived Mitzner. A raucous chant of “CDF! CDF! CDF!” broke out and was taken up by most of the crew.

“As you were! Maintain proper bridge protocol!” the master chief rasped.

“TAO,” Tehrani said as the chant stopped, “status of the enemy fleet?”

“Slowing their advance, ma’am. Some vessels appear to be ceasing forward movement.”

But most continued. The battle was far from over. Tehrani set her jaw. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Four Hundred Twenty-Eight.” Their target was the nearest enemy vessel to them—a destroyer.

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.” Even with their brilliant victory over the flagship, the fight ahead would be brutal. Without the promised nation-state reinforcements, she still saw no way to win. But she pushed the depressing thought down and went back to work.

* * *

Justin pulled up hard on his flight stick, dropping a trail of flares. The flares ignited almost instantly and attempted to decoy the incoming missiles with their five thousand degrees Celsius burn temperature. He killed his Sabre’s afterburner, hoping to cool his engine exhaust just enough for the enemy warheads to take the bait. One overshot and exploded violently, close enough that it shook his craft and jostled Justin. The second slammed into his weakened aft shields, knocking them down to five percent effective strength.

Red bolts of energy streaked by the cockpit canopy, putting a fine point on how bad a predicament Justin was in. His OODA loop was so compromised it hadn’t even registered to call for help yet. “Alpha One to any friendly fighters, my wingman is down, and I’ve got three bandits on my tail.” He jammed the throttle back to max thrust and engaged the afterburner. “Repeat, any friendly fighters. Mayday! Mayday!” Beads of sweat dripped down Justin’s forehead.

“Spencer, this is the CAG. Execute guns-D and keep those bastards guessing.”

“Roger that, Major,” Justin replied. Immediately, he launched his craft into a wild series of random twists and turns, accelerating and decelerating and doing his best to avoid the massive volume of fire directed toward him. After no fewer than twenty dodges, one of the red dots directly behind him disappeared, and for a split second, he saw a faint orange glow in the canopy reflection.

“CAG, splash one,” Whatley said calmly. The man sounded like he was merely giving a to-go order for his lunch. “Spencer, break right, ten degrees declination.”

Justin was well aware his life wasn’t in his hands at the moment. He sucked in a breath and rocked the flight stick as instructed, pulsing his afterburner simultaneously. To his surprise, Whatley overshot him, then things got weird. The major’s Sabre turned a full one hundred eighty degrees, still flying forward. Blue bolt after blue bolt erupted from its neutron cannons, and both pursuing League fighters were caught unaware. The first one blew apart into centimeter-sized chunks, while the second attempted to avoid. It lasted a few seconds longer than the other before it, too, exploded.

“CAG, splash two.”

“Uh. T-Thank y-you, sir. How’d you do that?”

“You did read the flight manual, right, Lieutenant?”

“Uh. Yes, sir,” Justin replied sheepishly.

“There’s a little-noticed feature these Sabres have… you can disengage your inertial damping system and use the station-keeping thrusters to turn your bird. It’s quite a shock to anyone not expecting it.”

Justin vaguely remembered seeing someone do that in a demonstration flight once. And that’s why Whatley gets paid the big bucks. He scanned his HUD. The remaining League fighter was headed straight for him. “We’ve got company, Major.”

“I see it, kid. That one’s all yours. Took out your wingman, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send the bastard on to God, and we’ll let Him sort it out.”

Justin rotated his Sabre toward the enemy without replying to Whatley’s instruction. Instead, his mind was laser-focused on the approaching hostile. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed, and he automatically squeezed the trigger, dropping a Vulture active-LIDAR-tracking missile toward the target. The Leaguer fired a similar warhead at him, which he avoided with ease. That League tech doesn’t appear to be as good as ours. Perhaps a technological advantage would help them in the long term. It would do much to explain the number of kills he and the rest of the Zvika Greengold pilots had racked up.

The enemy fighter blew past him as both craft exchanged energy-weapons fire. Without the three wingmen backing the Leaguer up, his movements were less confident and aggressive. The fight quickly turned into a turn-tail chase as they both tried to gain an advantage. Potshots at each other scored few hits, and Justin didn’t have enough time for missile lock-on. I’m still fighting this guy’s war. I need to fight mine. Clarity came to Justin, and he toggled the secondary weapon selector to his heat-seeking warheads. At the same time, he overrode the safety controls and set them to double launch.

Justin whipped through a tight series of scissors moves and borrowed a trick he’d seen Whatley perform in a different combat and slowed dramatically through one turn. The Leaguer overshot on full afterburner, and Justin pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha Two, fox two.” Twin heat seekers rocketed away from his Sabre and tracked the enemy fighter relentlessly. He took the time to make a transmission on the guard frequency. “Hey, Leaguer. Alpha Mike Foxtrot.” A few seconds later, both missiles hit its shields and detonated. The resulting explosion took the other craft with it. “Alpha One, splash one.” It felt good to erase from existence the person who’d probably killed his friend.

“More heavy bombers inbound,” Whatley rasped. “Alpha, get after ’em. I’m going to assist Beta.”

“Roger, sir.”

“And Spencer… nice shooting. What’d you learn?”

“Don’t allow emotion to overcome good tactical judgment.”

“Ah, lookee here. The kid can learn.”

Justin could almost feel the smirk he was sure was emanating from Whatley’s face. “Occasionally and twice on Sundays.”

“Good hunting, Lieutenant.”

With that, Whatley was off. Justin turned his attention to the inbound flight of League bombers flying directly toward the Zvika Greengold. It surprised him that they weren’t attacking a more capable capital ship, like the Conqueror, but it didn’t matter in the end—only that his element did its job. The squadron information screen on his HUD showed ten green dots and one red one. One was absent. Feldstein and Adeoye’s craft were functioning at one hundred percent—at least according to the integrated sensors. “Alpha One to Alpha Two, come in.”

“This is Alpha Two. Go ahead,” Feldstein replied quickly. “We were worried about you for a minute there, Lieutenant.”

“I was worried about myself.”

“Is Mateus…”

“I don’t know. She said she was ejecting, but it’s so chaotic out here that my sensors didn’t pick up an escape pod.” He hoped against hope that her IFF was malfunctioning but knew it was unlikely. Moreover, he couldn’t spare the brain space to think about it. They had a job to do—stay alive and defeat the enemy. “Form up on me and switch to dumb-fire rockets if you have any left. We’re going bomber hunting.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The intercept vector was a favorable one for Justin’s fellow Alpha element members to catch up to him without staying at maximum afterburner the entire time. He took the time to examine the battlespace and get a feel for the ebb and flow of the fighter combat. Most of the friendly small craft were of the planet-based variety. The only carriers the CDF had in its inventory were the Thane class. While they were all present and accounted for, three hundred sixty fast movers weren’t enough to shift the tide in any meaningful way.

“Everyone lock up a separate bomber,” Justin said. “Take one high-speed firing pass then get behind and terminate these guys.”

“Sir, there’s another flight of fighters headed our way,” Feldstein called. “Four bandits, bearing one-two-eight degrees negative declination.”

“Forget them. Take out the bombers, then we’ll shift targets.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Justin lined up the lead enemy and squeezed his firing trigger the moment it entered maximum range. Return fire in the form of red energy bolts rushed toward him. He added his dumb-fire missiles to the mix. Each hit substantially impacted the bomber’s shields. They failed, and chunks of armor broke off. At the last second, Justin rolled to his left, and his final rocket smacked the enemy craft, causing a chain reaction of several small explosions that blew the bomber apart. Only after the intense glow from the brief fireball had faded did he realize that three anti-ship missiles were headed straight for the Greengold. He briefly considered pursuit but discounted the idea. The carrier’s CIWS systems would have to be up to the task.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. We just lost two of our point-defense emplacements, port side.” Bryan turned his head around. “Fifty percent reduction in point-defense effectiveness on that quarter.”

“Communications, have Major Whatley designate one of his squadrons to protect us until repairs can be made,” Tehrani said. She turned toward Wright. “XO, prioritize getting our CIWS emplacements back online. By any means necessary.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani brushed a wisp of brown hair out of her face and focused on the tactical plot. The blue overhead lighting amplified the screen and made watching it easier. Across the battlespace, the League ships had stopped their advance, except for a few pockets of vessels still moving forward. She assumed they had a rigid command structure that didn’t allow for individual commanders’ initiatives.

The Greengold shuddered from another series of hits.

“TAO, who’s shooting at us?”

“Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six, ma’am. Enemy destroyer, and it’s coming about for another pass.”

On the plot, Tehrani quickly found the enemy along with two frigates maneuvering aggressively. “Firing-point procedures, Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six, forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“TAO, tag Master Four Hundred Twenty-Eight and request Delta element engage as she approaches us. ” Tehrani grinned fiercely. “We’ll see how many times they’ll fall for that particular trick.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan replied with levity in his voice—the sound of a man who had hope he would live to see another day.

Wright leaned in. “Bad news, Colonel. Damage-control parties report multiple hours to get our PD guns back online. One’s completely gone, while the other is suffering from a severed power conduit.”

“We must make do,” Tehrani replied. Her heart sank. At any moment, the Leaguers would realize how badly her ship was wounded and concentrate everything they had on the port quarter. I owe it to my crew not to sacrifice them in a meaningless gesture. “Run a Lawrence drive calculation to put us across the system, closer to Canaan and inside the Lawrence limit,” she whispered.

“Shouldn’t the navigator do that, ma’am?” Wright replied equally quietly. “I’m rusty enough that I might put us into the sun.”

Tehrani chuckled. “No, I don’t want to alarm the crew. Just in case we have to bug out quickly.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright turned and bent over his tablet, hard at work on the equations.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh called. “Flash traffic from CSV Victory, ma’am. Vidlink is active.”

“Put it on my viewer, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The screen above Tehrani’s head sprang to life with an image of General Irvine. Her face was harried, and dark circles were visible under her eyes. “Attention, all CDF forces. The enemy’s flagship has been disabled and, with it, their command-and-control structure. Our reinforcements are minutes away, but victory is still far from certain. Engage the enemy at all points of attack and don’t hold back. We must press them and send them on the run. You’ve all fought bravely and valiantly. Continue to do your duty, and we will prevail! I will see you all at the victory celebration. Good hunting and Godspeed.”

“I wish we knew how long we had to hold,” Wright groused. “But it’s good to hear the American and the British space navies are on the way.”

“The CDF should never have disbanded and downsized the way it did,” Tehrani said. “That decision was short-sighted.” She glanced at the tactical plot and noted that the League destroyer she was tracking was almost in range. “TAO, reconfirm firing solution for Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six.”

“Firing solution set and confirmed, ma’am.”

The League vessels flew into firing range, loosing a barrage of the ubiquitous red plasma balls. The view through the Zvika Greengold’s windows filled with the glow from the enemy weapons, while the Greengold’s point-defense systems—those still working, anyway—blazed away at incoming missiles. Delta element sent three anti-ship missiles at the hapless destroyer, pummeling her shields to less than ten percent.

Tehrani grinned. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Two blue spears of solid energy shot out from the bow of the Greengold and first depleted what was left of the League vessel’s deflector screens. For a split second, the enemy’s shields held with a red skid effect visible. Then they were gone. Because of the positioning of the two ships, the neutron beams speared the destroyer from bow to stern, punching a hole clean through the thin hull. Moments later, it exploded in a flash of orange-and-blue flame, with nothing left to prove it had ever existed except one-meter-long chunks of debris.

“I would again remind you that CDF tactical doctrine states that carriers are to stay back, out of a direct ship-to-ship engagement,” Wright said and laughed. “The way you’re going, ma’am, we’re going to get awarded a battle star.”

“Desperate times, desperate measures, XO.” Tehrani set her eyes back to the tactical plot, searching for the next target. She had many to choose from.

16

“Beta three declaring an emergency. Mayday, mayday, mayday. I’m punching out,” someone calmly stated.

Justin winced. That made three pilots from his squadron with a total loss of craft and an unknown number of them killed in action. They were down to eight combat-effective fighters. All around the Red Tails, debris from destroyed Leaguers filled the void. We’ve fought a good fight. He maneuvered through space as he did the mental mathematics to plot a course to bring his Sabre behind the enemy displayed on the HUD.

“Any word on those reinforcements, CAG?” Feldstein asked.

“What do I look like? A prophet? They’ll get here when they get here,” Whatley groused. “Until then, keep killing the bastards.”

“Wilco, sir.”

Justin laughed softly. I’d wager the major is having a blast over there. Some people were seemingly made from steel. Whatley was one of them.

The calculations Justin had made appeared to work, as his Saber glided behind the enemy he was tracking. To his surprise, he was close enough for a guns solution, and he held down the firing trigger. Dozens of blue neutron-cannon bolts flew into the hostile craft, and it exploded violently. “Alpha One, splash one.”

Another League fighter exploded to his left. “Alpha Two, splash one,” Feldstein said tightly. “Two more in this group.”

I’m down to my last heat-seeking missile. Justin quickly toggled through his stores, having lost count during the nonstop fighting. He only had one warhead left. He’d expended all active LIDAR trackers and dumb-fire rockets. Better make it count.

His craft shuddered from a volley of hits, and Justin slowed his Sabre dramatically. The enemy overshot. Time seemed to slow as he pressed the missile-launch button while holding down the firing trigger for his energy weapons.

The enemy craft blew apart, and its debris cloud struck his cockpit canopy with a series of short metallic impacts that sounded like rain hitting a tin roof.

Adeoye’s voice filled the commlink. “Alpha Three, splash one.”

Justin didn’t even bother to call out his latest kill. “We’re clear.”

“For now,” Feldstein replied. “They seem to have a never-ending supply of these things.”

As if on cue, another blob of red dots appeared on Justin’s HUD. He groaned. “Quit jinxing us.” Justin paused. “Stores check?”

“I’m out except energy weapons,” Feldstein replied.

“Same for me,” Adeoye said.

Justin despaired. Tail-turning dogfights, even against inferior technology, would eventually end up with him and the rest of Alpha dead or ejected. He cued the commlink and set it to the squadron commander’s channel. “CAG, this is Alpha One. We’re all Winchester, sir. Recommend we pull back to the carrier and attempt to resupply.”

“Negative, Alpha,” Whatley barked. “We hold.”

“Sir—”

“Son, listen. There’s no time to get a new load of missiles. We’re going to stand and fight until we can’t fight anymore.”

Again, the ultimate sacrifice. Who am I to consider stepping aside? Cohen and the crew on that destroyer didn’t. Justin set his jaw. Even though he could make peace with the notion of dying, sacrificing those under him felt like a bridge too far. “Sir, can I at least order my wingmen back?”

A pregnant pause came through the commlink. “Lieutenant, I respect your desire to take care of those under your command. It’s an excellent trait. But not today… today we’re all in. We hold the line or die trying. You get me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on. CAG out.”

Justin resolutely stared at the HUD and calculated his course. The Leaguers might overwhelm them in time, but he was determined to take as many of the enemy out as possible—to make the sacrifice worth it. Maybe if we kill enough of them, they’ll stop coming.

* * *

“Colonel, it’s time to pull our fighters back,” Wright whispered. He’d leaned in close to her to avoid having his words carry throughout the bridge. “Everyone is Winchester, and it’s suicide for them to go into wave after wave of enemies with full missile loads.”

Tehrani grimaced, as the words stung. He was right, but she couldn’t bear to admit defeat. I suspect most of our ship commanders feel the same way as I do. “Not yet. We wait until the last possible moment.”

“Ma’am,” Wright said, his voice rising, “it’s my duty to insist on proper procedure. Canaan’s defense system is operational. We should get what’s left of our air wing, bug out, and make another stand there—after rearming our pilots so they’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell!”

“As you were,” Tehrani replied forcefully. “Order each squadron to continue engagement until each craft is under fifty percent hull integrity. At that point, they are to bug out to home plate. Clear, XO?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Wright’s words were respectful, his tone was anything but. Tehrani made a mental note to address it later—if they had a later. Meanwhile, the battle raged around them. While the CDF battle line had slowly but stubbornly given way earlier, the loss of every ship had become more and more devastating. It allowed the League forces to concentrate their firepower on an ever-dwindling number of targets, to horrific effect. Escorts endured the enemy assault, with destroyer after destroyer exploding as waves of the deadly plasma balls overloaded their shields, melted away armor, and seared them from the universe. The fight was quickly becoming a rout.

“Conn, TAO. We’ve got a heavy cruiser on a direct approach, ma’am. Designated Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, it’s focusing on the Conqueror.”

Inwardly, Tehrani groaned. They just don’t stop coming. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, forward neutron beams.” She studied her tactical plot. “Do any of our bombers have anti-ship missiles left?”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.” Bryan turned his head. “No, ma’am. All munitions expended. Our beams can’t get through their shields at full strength.”

Tehrani already knew that, but it didn’t change that they had to try. “Request fire support from the Conqueror,” she replied quietly.

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan said as he faced forward.

Seconds passed without a response from the CDF battleship. According to Tehrani’s readout, the Conqueror was in worse shape than the Greengold. Her shields had collapsed, and her forward armor was nearly depleted. Still, her magnetic cannons blazed defiance into the void. Missiles erupted from her Vertical Rail Launch System, and neutron beams far more potent than those the Greengold mounted reached out and burned the enemy heavy cruiser’s shields.

The moment the League vessel’s shields dropped below fifteen percent, Tehrani made her move. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Two blue spears of energy shot out of the Greengold and slammed into the enemy ship as it closed with the CDF formation. After a few moments, the beams penetrated the cruiser’s defensive screens and impacted its hull. But unlike the last few times, there was no series of secondary explosions and no last-second destruction of the target. Plasma balls zoomed out of the Leaguer’s forward turrets along with red energy beams and a brace of missiles. Against the weakened shields of the Greengold and her degraded point-defense systems, the barrage scored many hits.

“Conn, TAO. Forward and port shields failed, ma’am!” Bryan’s normally professional voice went up an octave, and his volume rose. “We’re taking hull damage, concentrated in the hangar decks and ventral armor.”

His words stoked fear in Tehrani’s heart. She pulled up a hull-integrity readout. The forward portion of the ship had already turned yellow. “Navigation, emergency turn to port, flank speed. Come to heading two-seven-zero, thirty-degree up bubble.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

As the Greengold labored to get out of the way of incoming fire, more and more hits registered against the ship’s light-armor skin. Tehrani suddenly pitched forward and was only held back from flying out of her chair by the restraint straps. “Damage report, XO,” she barked.

“That last impact got us good, ma’am,” Wright replied. He pointed at a blinking red indicator on the screen built into the XO’s chair. “Multiple power conduits lost amidships.”

He didn’t have to tell Tehrani the rest of the story—enough were disabled that the secondary conduits and bypasses wouldn’t be able to route power to all systems. Eventually, something significant would quit functioning… like shields or their engines. She bit her lip. “Communications, order our fighters and bombers to return to home plate. Priority-one tasker.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied immediately. “Order transmitted.”

“I take it we’re leaving,” Wright said quietly.

She nodded. “Dead heroes don’t help anyone.”

Another wave of plasma balls slammed into the Greengold, and Tehrani realized she’d waited too long as the lights on the bridge flickered and went out. It only took a moment for the emergency lights to turn on, bathing the area in red light. The CO’s chair and its integrated panel bank were nonfunctional. “Does anyone have power to their consoles?”

“Conn, TAO. Negative.”

“Conn, Navigation. Negative.”

“Conn, Communications. Negative.”

Well, that’s all the major systems. Tehrani brought her small hand comm up to her lips. “Conn, Engineering. Hodges, can you hear me?”

“Aye, Colonel!” Hodges’s grainy shouts came through the speaker. “No power is getting forward of section fifteen. We’re working on it.”

“Work faster, Major,” Tehrani replied. “Do you have engine control?”

“No, ma’am. Most of our electronics are fried.”

Yelling came from the background, but she couldn’t make it out.

“Emergency power coming on now, ma’am.”

Right on cue, computers and consoles came alive across the bridge. “Conn, TAO. I’ve got sensors back online.” Another series of weapons impacts jostled the crew. “Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine continues to engage.”

“TAO, do we have any weapons left?” Tehrani asked, her voice taut with tension.

Bryan turned his head around. “No, ma’am. Neutron beams are offline, as is point defense.”

Tehrani made eye contact with Wright. “Abandon ship?”

“I’m sorry, skipper,” he said. “It’s time. A few more hits will probably see us off.”

As Tehrani opened her mouth to give the order, Bryan spoke. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound Lawrence drive wormholes!” He paused. “They’re CDF signature, ma’am.”

“How many?”

“A lot, ma’am. It looks to be the balance of our reinforcements.”

The tactical plot populated with dozens of new blue icons, many of them in close proximity to the Zvika Greengold. Hundreds of additional dots appeared as fighters and bombers streamed out of launch bays on the American carriers. Tehrani hummed a cheerful tune.

“Conn, Communications. Inbound vidlink from the USS Saratoga.” The American-built carriers had reverted to nation-state control several years prior.

“Put it through to my viewer, Lieutenant.”

A few seconds later, her monitor came to life with the image of the Saratoga’s bridge, focused on a man in a khaki service uniform. He furrowed his brow. “Colonel Kevin Reynolds, commanding officer, USS Saratoga, at your service. We’ve extended our shields around you, Zvika Greengold.”

Tehrani let out a breath. “It is a great relief to see you, Colonel Reynolds. We were getting worried.”

“Better late than never,” Reynolds said. “Maneuver behind us, and our battlegroup will protect you, Colonel.”

“I’m afraid our engines are down at the moment,” Tehrani replied. She looked at Wright. “ETA, XO?”

Wright shook his head. “Damage control is reporting it’ll be hours before we’re able to move with more than station-keeping thrusters.”

She turned back to her viewer. “I’m afraid the Greengold isn’t going anywhere for a while.”

“Roger that. Hold position as best as you can. We’ve got the watch, Colonel. Saratoga out.”

After the vidlink blinked out, Tehrani pulled up the tactical plot once more. The mass of blue icons continued to spread out, like a mighty rushing wind. Magnetic-cannon turrets fired, while bright-blue neutron beams crisscrossed space and lit up the blackness. Orange flame dotted the view in the Greengold’s windows, the telltale signature of an exploding warship. Meanwhile, the red dots representing the League vessels disappeared one by one.

As it sank in, she bowed her head and whispered a prayer in Arabic, thanking Allah for His help.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, all enemy contacts. They’re retreating, ma’am… straight toward the Lawrence limit at flank speed.”

“It’s over,” Wright said. “Dear God, that was too close.”

“More aptly, it’s just begun,” Tehrani replied.

Across the board, the League ships streamed away from Canaan’s beleaguered defenders, pursued by swarms of bombers and every available capital-class vessel. They were still full of fight, though. The newcomers took losses, as did the remaining CDF vessels. One group of enemies seemed to focus their firepower square on the Victory. Her shields had taken a beating for a while and were close to collapse. One burst of plasma balls finished the deflector power off, and hits landed on her hull.

Dozens of additional plasma balls slammed into the Victory. Tehrani glanced down at her tactical plot, hoping against hope that other friendly vessels were within range—anything that could shield the stricken flagship. A group of anti-ship missiles bobbed and weaved through multiple layers of integrated point defense, and while most were destroyed, one made it. It sailed through the shredded front armor of the mighty battleship and exploded within with a fiery blast of orange-and-blue flame. Secondary explosions blossomed across the forward hull and into the bridge tower. Tehrani could only watch in horror.

Silence filled the bridge, and a feeling of dread so dense that one could cut it with a knife descended across the room.

“Conn, TAO,” Bryan finally said. “Sierra One disabled.” He glanced back at her. “CSV Victory is transmitting a general distress call, and command of the fleet has transferred to General Saurez on the CSV Fernando Frontin.” A heavy cruiser, the Frontin was far less capable a warship than the Victory. “The fleet continues to advance.”

While his last words were superfluous, Tehrani was thankful her young tactical officer had uttered them. Almost instantly, a wave of relief swept the bridge. At the current stage of the fight, morale was incredibly powerful. The outcome still teetered on a knife’s edge, and a perception that without Irvine, all hope was lost would quickly become fatal. Still, being unable to contribute anything further was galling. If only we had our engines and working weapons. “How long until the enemy can jump out, Lieutenant?”

“We engaged them close to the limit, ma’am. No more than ten minutes, max.”

So they sat, unable to affect the ongoing battle and watching as the Greengold’s remaining fighters and bombers attacked targets of opportunity and provided cover fire for the new fast movers from the American and British carriers. They destroyed hundreds of League vessels in quick succession, and eventually the enemy broke. First in pairs then in groups, the Leaguers abandoned their formations with their carefully crafted lanes of fire and ran. At that point, the battle was truly over. Mop-up continued, and the new arrivals made the most of their limited engagement time.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change… enemy contacts are charging Lawrence drives. Wormholes opening, ma’am. They’re jumping out.”

Waves of red dots disappeared from Tehrani’s tactical plot. A few, with serious battle damage and nonfunctional FTL drives, remained. “XO, I want a bow-to-stern damage report in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Conn, Communications. Remaining League ships are requesting surrender terms.”

Tehrani snorted. “Let the generals deal with that.”

“Three hots and a cot for them, while we have a war to fight,” Wright groused.

“According to the Canaan Alliance charter,” Tehrani replied. “We don’t have to like it.”

“Just enforce it.”

“Touché.”

Wright shook his head and buried himself in his console, while Tehrani felt shocked to be alive. A few stray red icons representing enemy fast movers remained on her screen, but they dwindled by the moment as the overwhelming superiority of the nation-state reinforcements saw them off. “Recover our pilots as soon as practical, XO. Launch search and rescue… and may Allah have mercy on our lost and wounded.”

“Amen,” Wright replied, looking up from his screen. “I’m still working on the damage report, ma’am, but it’s safe to say we won’t be moving for a few hours.”

“Thank you, XO.”

17

In nearly stunned amazement, Justin watched as hundreds of friendly fighters swept the skies clear of enemy vessels. Mostly American and British designs, they were all variations on the Sabre he flew. For a moment, it felt as if the hand of God had reached down and exacted a price from the League. I remember my mother saying a miss is as good as a mile. But as the feeling of amazement faded, Justin examined the cost. Four of his squadron’s pilots showed red on his overview display—ejected or dead. Of the three squadrons from the Zvika Greengold, they had at least a thirty percent rate of loss. The statistic was sobering in the extreme.

“CAG to all friendly craft,” Whatley said. “Return to home plate. We’re done here. The Americans can have their glory. I won’t risk any more of you in mop-up.”

“Acknowledged, sir. Alpha is RTB.”

Feldstein and Adeoye came up from behind him, falling into formation. Justin took notice and cued his commlink to the private Alpha channel. “Let’s do the missing man. To honor Mateus.”

“Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied quickly. She sounded pained. “I’m going to miss her.”

As the two other Sabres slid into a finger-four formation, the number-three position was empty. Honoring a comrade fallen in battle was a time-honored tradition, and the weight of losing Mateus hit Justin like a ton of bricks. I lost someone under my command. Combat produced a high unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But the certain knowledge that someone’s daughter wasn’t going home overwhelmed him.

“Lieutenant Mateus was a fine pilot and a good friend,” Adeoye said. “I suppose on the bright side, she’ll stop cleaning us out at cards.”

The joke, delivered in his rich timbre, was just enough to shake loose even more emotions.

Justin blinked as a tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t know where we’re going from here, but it’s been an honor to serve with you.”

“Same here, Spencer.” Feldstein’s voice almost broke. “Damn, what a day.”

“And here you all are, carrying on.”

For a moment, Justin’s heart felt like it had quit beating. “Mateus? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” she replied. “What? You think I’m coming to you live from the afterlife?”

Silence reigned for more than a few seconds before Feldstein finally spoke. “What happened? We thought you’d bought the farm.”

“Lowest-bidder tech again. Comms were down on my escape pod. I just rewired it myself.”

Relief washed over Justin, and for a second, he felt guilty in his happiness that his friend wasn’t dead and he didn’t have to face losing someone close to him—at least not yet. “Well, I think this calls for a celebration.”

“Drinks in the mess. Lots of drinks!” Mateus replied.

“Hear! Hear!” Feldstein said with a chuckle.

As the Zvika Greengold came into view, Justin felt stunned once more. The proud carrier had more holes in her than he could count. Vapor was escaping from several wounds, while half the ship’s point-defense turrets were simply gone, mangled metal in their places. He wondered how she was still in one piece after the visible beating taken. I guess they build those things to last.

Despite it all, he grinned. These Leaguers took their best shot… and we’re still here. Our homes are safe, and they lost. He stared at the picture of his wife and daughter. And we’ll keep fighting.

The maw of the flight bay beckoned.

* * *

It took several hours of frantic repairs to the ion engines to get the Zvika Greengold ready to move under her own power once more. Tehrani thought about allowing another vessel to tow the ship, but she decided they’d earned flying home.

Search-and-rescue operations continued throughout the battle zone. Many were confirmed dead. The battle had been the single most costly engagement the Coalition Defense Force had ever fought. The Greengold was lucky, Tehrani reflected. Only one hundred twenty-four were dead, eleven of those being Sabre and Mauler pilots. Still, for a woman who’d never lost a person under her command and never expected to, it was a rude awakening.

Still on the bridge, Tehrani looked up from a damage report to see Wright staring at her with a somber expression. “What is it, Major?”

“S and R just confirmed that General Irvine is dead.”

“And the Victory?”

“The hull’s intact, but she’s a complete wreck. Worse, the entire hulk is irradiated. The initial report here”—he waved his tablet—“says there’s virtually no way to decontaminate her.” He paused. “At least she lived to see the victory. The Victory’s bridge crew were insistent on that detail being shared.”

With Irvine gone, Tehrani wondered who would lead them. Someone will step up. It’s the order of things. She turned and stared out the window at the front of the bridge. “TAO, how far away are we from the Victory?”

“A thousand kilometers, give or take, ma’am,” Bryan replied. He sounded tired and weary.

“Navigation, intercept course.” Tehrani glanced at the plot and zeroed in on the icon for the Victory. “Sierra One Hundred Eighteen. Bring us alongside.”

Wright turned his head. “Manning the sides?”

“Got it in one,” Tehrani replied. “It would serve us well to remember their sacrifice and our own.”

He nodded. “Completely agree, skipper. Just don’t make the aviation deck force break out crackerjacks.” Wright winked.

Tehrani laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She stared off into space. “Not today, at least. Someday, I could see ships rendering honors as they fly by. Perhaps when we’ve won the war.”

“Yeah.”

Minutes passed as the escort carrier turned around and headed back toward the destroyed hulk of the Victory. The atmosphere on the bridge was somber but hopeful. They’d been through hell and survived. Tehrani figured that counted for something. She realized they needed to fire something to render honors as the Zvika Greengold glided by. Does anything still work on this ship? “TAO, do we have any functional weapons?”

“Um, two point-defense turrets, ma’am. That’s about it.”

“That’ll have to do, then. Firing-point procedures on those turrets. Target a safe vector and stand by to fire a salute as we pass.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

When they were about a hundred kilometers away and creeping along at the painfully slow speed of five hundred meters a second, Tehrani punched up the 1MC. “Attention, all hands. This is your commanding officer. We are passing the CSV Victory to port. Man the sides to render honors. I say again, man the sides.” She turned off the intercom and stood. “Attention on deck!”

Everyone on the bridge except for Bryan and Mitzner—Tactical and Navigation—leaped to their feet.

As the plot showed them coming alongside the Victory, Tehrani turned to Bryan. “TAO, shoot, twenty-one-gun salute.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

Streams of tracers erupted from the point-defense weapons in an age-old tradition.

The moment passed, and the Greengold continued on her way, past the wreck.

“As you were,” Tehrani said and sat back in her chair. “Navigation, lay in a course for Canaan’s primary shipyard and request docking instructions.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

“Ma’am, I think you might want to see this,” Bryan said as he turned around. “Have a look at your monitor.”

Tehrani’s eyes moved to the monitor above her head. After a few seconds, what he was talking about became apparent.

Every ship in the fleet had taken a vector that put them on approach to the Victory, in a neat line abreast. As the vessels formed up, they fired off tracer rounds or neutron beams at low power, mimicking the salute the Zvika Greengold had already performed. It was a fitting send-off to the flagship of the fleet and the heroic general who’d delivered an unlikely victory. Though as Tehrani pondered it, she felt convinced that Allah had, at the least, smiled on their efforts.

It took another hour for the carrier to slide into its berth. Tehrani had never seen so many vessels docked before or so much visible battle damage. Most ships had, at minimum, scorched hulls with pockmarks of armor damage and missing weapons emplacements, all the way up to holes cut clear through the internal structure. To say the fleet was heavily damaged was a significant understatement. Still, they’d survived, as had most of the CDF. It would take some time to get combat ready once more, but when they did, the League was in for a galaxy of hurt.

As the umbilicals from the station locked into place, Wright leaned over. “We just got a request to organize the off-loading of our wounded and… deceased.” He bit his lip, and emotion crept onto his face. “I’ve never organized a coffin ceremony before. Have you?”

Tehrani shook her head. “No. There was never a need.”

“I’ll get it started by the book.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“I’d say I hope it’s the only time we’ll have to do this…”

“But that is wishful thinking,” Tehrani finished. She felt numb. “I’ll be in my day cabin.” She stood. “The XO has the conn.”

“This is Major Wright. I have the conn,” he intoned formally.

The hatch to the bridge closed behind Tehrani, and she trudged down the passageway. She decided to take a moment to review the names of those lost before getting a shower and changing into her white dress uniform. In the back of her mind, she noted it was about time for the afternoon prayer. Tehrani quickened her steps to avoid being late.

* * *

Justin stared in the mirror of his small, cramped bathroom aboard the Zvika Greengold. One perk of serving on a carrier was that even a junior officer had a private room with a shower. He adjusted his flight wings and the ribbon bar on his uniform. A ceremony such as the one he was about to attend—removing casualties from the ship—called for a dress uniform. But the closest thing he had was a khaki duty uniform, pressed and ready to wear. It took thirty minutes, but he spit-shined his black shoes to the point that they looked like a mirror. Though it was a small gesture, his shoes were the only part of the uniform he could get entirely to regulation. I owe them that much. To show honor in any way I can.

After a last glance in the mirror to ensure everything was set, Justin walked out of his cabin. The walk to the main hangar deck took some time. As he strode through the passageways of the vessel, the unmistakable pride of victory along with a somber feeling of loss emanated from every soldier he passed. It was so palpable that Justin could almost taste it.

He rounded the corner and ambled through the double hatch into the hangar. Before him, a scene no soldier or Marine ever wanted to see was set out. Dozens of caskets, each tightly covered with the flag of the Terran Coalition, sat in neat rows, perfectly spaced. An honor guard of the ship’s Marine company was formed up along with a single bagpiper who was dressed in a traditional tartan uniform complete with a kilt. Justin spied the senior officers of the Greengold—Colonel Tehrani, Major Wright, and Major Whatley. They stood in a neat row, waiting.

Whatley saw Justin almost immediately and motioned him over. “The pilots are last,” he said matter-of-factly. “The other squadron commanders should be here shortly.”

Some of the caskets toward the end of the line had small flight wings hammered into the sides of them. Justin bit his lip, realizing just how close he’d come to being in one of them. So did Mateus.

A minor commotion at the entrance drew his attention. Francis Martin eased through the double hatch, but something was wrong. It took Justin a moment to process that the Australian’s left leg was missing, and he was hobbling on crutches. Two nurses and a doctor chased him, which was mildly comical because it wasn’t as if he were moving that fast. A grimace crossed the pilot’s face with every step he took. At about halfway between the door and the rest of the pilots, the doctor finally got in front of him.

“Lieutenant Martin, please, you’re endangering your life. Return to the medical bay at once. That is a direct order.”

Martin dodged to one side and kept coming. “Get out of my way, mate.”

Before things could get out of hand, Whatley turned and strode over. “What’s going on here?”

“Lieutenant Martin suffered severe trauma when he ejected,” the doctor replied. Even though he attempted to keep his voice low, the hangar deck plates had a way of making sound reverberate. “We amputated his leg not more than two hours ago, and he needs to be in ICU. Period.”

“I’m fine,” Martin said through gritted teeth. “Nothing is stopping me from saying goodbye to my mates. Now, you can either move out of the bloody way or court-martial me, Doc. I don’t care.”

“As soon as the ceremony is complete, you will return to the medical ward,” Whatley said as he stared at Martin. “Are we clear, Lieutenant?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Major, I must—”

Whatley cut the doctor off in midsentence. “You’re doing your job. I respect that, but you have to understand how raw the emotions are right now. We lost a third of our number. These men and women need to be here. This is our way to see them off and go right back to the front. It’s how we grieve. Do you understand?”

“Major, his leg was amputated. I don’t even know how the man is standing in front of us. If an artery goes, he could bleed to death.”

“Then leave a nurse to ensure he doesn’t.” Whatley’s tone left no room for disagreement.

Justin noted that neither Tehrani nor the rest of the Greengold’s officers got involved. They seemed to have a general understanding that it was an aviation matter and would be handled by the major. Finally, the doctor nodded begrudgingly and walked off, leaving Martin to walk the last few steps. He came to a halt next to Justin and was soon flanked by Whatley.

“Thank you, sir,” Martin ground out, every word filled with pain.

Whatley put his arm around the pilot’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it, Lieutenant. You just focus on getting better.”

“I’m going to kill them all, sir,” Martin replied. His voice was level and calm. “The moment I can fly, I will be back in my Mauler, and as the universe as my witness, when I’m done, there won’t be any of those commie bastards left in it.”

For once, Justin had nothing to say. He couldn’t deny the spirit, but something felt off in his fellow soldier’s words. A realization that if he allowed such thoughts to take root in himself, he might end up in a dangerous place washed over him.

But he had little time for further internal ruminations, as the voice of Lieutenant Singh issued from the intercom speakers in the hangar. “Now hear this. Now hear this. Casket ceremony to commence in three minutes.”

At that, everyone took their places, including those that filed in steadily. Tehrani and the senior officers stood at the front, while Whatley and the pilots were a couple of rows back. The honor guard, consisting of two squads of seven soldiers each, came to attention.

The chaplain for the vessel took a step forward and spoke in a loud voice. “Eternal Father, strong to save, we commend the souls of brothers and sisters departed from this universe. Watch over them as they take their last journey. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

The haunting sounds of “Amazing Grace,” played by the lone bagpiper, filled the hangar. One by one, the caskets moved forward on their antigrav sleds. As each person passed, led by Tehrani, they saluted the fallen. It took what seemed like hours to remove the deceased members of the Zvika Greengold’s company. While the proceeding was somber, Justin realized that aside from a single tear he saw fall down the colonel’s cheek, people had shown little outward display of emotion—until they carried the pilots out, that was.

As the fifth casket containing the body of a pilot moved out of the hangar bay, Martin wept openly, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry, mates. It should be me in there, not you.”

The man’s cry carried across the deck. Whatley and Justin both moved to put their arms around his shoulders from either side. Of all the people to expect a breakdown from, Justin didn’t think it would’ve been the larger-than-life Aussie, who was always ready with a quip or insult.

“Siebert took a missile meant for me,” Martin continued. “I should’ve died. Not him.”

Whatley’s voice took on a soothing and kind tone, one that Justin had never heard out of the man before. “Lieutenant, his bomber was on fire, and he knew he wouldn’t make it.” He paused then stepped in front of Martin. “Now, you listen to me. Siebert made a call. I saw it happen on my scanner. I would’ve done the same thing if I were him in that situation. Your job now is to carry on. The rest of us need you.”

It took a few seconds for Martin to answer. “Yes, sir.” His voice broke. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we can ask of ourselves, and it’s all God asks of us.”

Martin wasn’t big on religion or faith, but Justin figured that Whatley was trying to console him as best he knew how.

“We’ve got your back, Lieutenant,” Justin added.

Martin shifted his head and made eye contact. “You promise me you’ll make them pay. We all will.”

“I promise,” Justin replied.

Silence again broke out, save for the mournful sound of the bagpipes. The caskets resumed their procession out of the ship, and Justin again felt surprised that he was still alive.

18

Though it was close to 2200 hours, Jason Nolan still sat quietly in the Oval Office. Since word of their dramatic last-moment victory coupled with the tragic loss of General Irvine and the tens of thousands of other CDF personnel had reached Canaan, events had proceeded at a blinding pace. He’d given an address to the entire Coalition over the emergency subspace communication system, signed a myriad of executive orders, and started the process of getting the country on a war footing.

So much for my domestic agenda. He’d been elected on a platform of revamping how the Terran Coalition conducted trade with the nearby alien races, and the entire nation had focused inward. We have for the last twenty years. Nolan had once said the CDF wasn’t the galaxy's policeman, and it was time for Terrans to see the benefits of their empire. Staring out into the night, he regretted those words. If instead, we had maintained the Canaan Alliance, how would this battle have been fought? Would it have even been fought at all? The only way ahead was to banish such thoughts from his mind and be a leader dedicated to winning the war.

A knock came at the door. It opened, and a member of his protective-service detail stuck her head in. “Mr. President, he’s here.”

Nolan motioned with his hand. “Send him in, please. And close the door behind him.”

The woman nodded and stood aside.

A moment later, Pradeep Singh Anand, the Speaker of the Coalition Assembly, entered. A tall man, he wore the bright-purple turban of a Sikh. He’d been the Speaker for going on ten years and was a member of a rival political party, the Liberals. They took the name from the old Australian center-right party on Earth and were an amalgamation of the center-right parties from all planets in the Terran Coalition. In other words, they were the direct ideological competitors to Nolan’s Liberal-Democrat party, which found its home in the center left.

“Mr. President, thank you for seeing me,” Anand said.

The door closed behind him.

“Never a bother, Pradeep.” Nolan respected the Speaker. While they had many areas they didn’t agree with each other on politically, Nolan found the man to be forthright and honorable. “Please, sit. This is as informal as possible.”

Anand took a seat in front of the Resolute Desk, an artifact from Earth once used by Winston Churchill, and crossed his legs. “I’m here not only in my capacity as Speaker but also as a representative of the entire Liberal party.” He paused, as if considering his words. “I know we don’t see eye to eye on most domestic policy issues… but I want you to understand I am personally behind you one hundred percent. As is the entire party. Whatever you need, you’ve got it. There will be no political grandstanding or attempts to hold up essential votes to score points.” Anand grinned. “If you propose eliminating the Constitution, well, that’ll get a response. But anything within reason, we’ll vote for it.”

The enormity of Anand’s comments took a minute to sink into Nolan’s mind. He pursed his lips. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Declaration of war?”

“Done,” Anand replied.

“We must expand the CDF and TCMC significantly.”

Anand nodded. “I agree entirely. If you’d like, we can start working on the legislative markup immediately.”

“I’d appreciate it. I’ve been sitting here tonight thinking about how we got here. The truth is some of these missteps are my fault, and some are my predecessors’. We’ve had control of the presidency for the last ten years and the Assembly for most of it. God, if I could go back. Scaling back our defensive and offensive military capability… the worst mistake we ever made.”

“There’s no point in assigning blame now. What matters is how we move forward. The entire Terran Coalition has enjoyed the spoils of peace. We thought we were invincible.” Anand snorted. “Well, that was a crock, and now our teenagers will get to pay the price for our arrogance and stupidity. I was reviewing the CDF war plans in case of invasion by an outside power of significant strength. We’re far enough behind the curve that it warrants a draft.”

Nolan shook his head. “I’d rather wait and see how many people volunteer. I think the lines will snake around every recruiting station in the Coalition come tomorrow morning. Perhaps we won’t need one.”

“With respect, Mr. President, that’s a dream. If for one reason and one reason only. This is a war for survival, and everyone in our nation needs skin in the game. If there’s no draft, we could eventually end up in a situation where the affluent and wealthy don’t volunteer. Such a thing would breed resentment and hurt morale.”

Nolan laughed, despite everything going on. “Pradeep, if I didn’t know better, I’d say one of my bright young left-wing speechwriters had fed you talking points.”

Anand rolled his eyes. “I think not.”

They laughed before Nolan continued. “I’m speaking off the cuff here, but what we really need is a unity government.”

Anand locked eyes with him. “It’s been a long time since we had one of those.”

“The Second Saurian War.”

“Yeah, fifty-five years ago, and it fell apart during the conflict.”

“So, it’ll be up to us to ensure it succeeds.” Nolan spread his hands out on the desk. “I’m going to ask my vice president to resign. For the good of the nation. In her place, I’ll nominate someone from a center-right party.”

Anand gaped at him. “Seriously? You expect her to resign? Just like that?”

“For the good of the nation,” Nolan repeated. “And a promise that when my second term is up, I’ll endorse her candidacy for president. That’s her end goal, of course.”

“Remind me not to play poker with you,” Anand replied. “I’ll put some feelers out and see if I can help you find someone that understands the concept of unity.” He paused. “Tell me—have you thought about a strategy for how to fight this war?”

“Beyond surviving whatever they throw at us next?”

Anand nodded.

“I have,” Nolan said as he steepled his fingers. “Earth. If we want to defeat this League of Sol, it must be done by taking Earth.”

“Crossing the galactic arm… I can’t even think about the logistics of such an endeavor.”

“That’s up to the military,” Nolan replied. He’d already ordered the chairman of the Joint Chiefs to begin planning. It would take at least five years to build up their fleet properly, and it would also take that long to beat the plowshares of the Terran Coalition back into swords and truly go on the offensive—maybe less, if the entire population mobilized. “Our job will be to galvanize the people.”

“On that, we agree, my friend.” Anand sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you? Anything?”

“Well, you are the de facto leader of your party, as I am of mine,” Nolan said. “I want a message to go out from both of us to every operative, talking head, and political commentator we have, respectively. Unity, not attacks, and no cheap political points.”

“Conservatives aren’t monolithic, you know.”

“Nor are Liberal-Democrats. We’ll have some stragglers, I’m sure.”

Anand smiled in return. “Done.”

Nolan inclined his head. “One other thing.”

“Name it.”

“Pray for me. Pray to God that I will have wisdom and that He will guide me to make the right decisions.”

Anand furrowed his brow. “I will spend a lot of time in the temple, praying to Waheguru, asking for His guidance. I would only ask that you do the same for me when you pray.”

Nolan stood and extended his arm. “I promise I will. Daily.”

Anand shook his hand warmly. “May you walk in the path.”

“God bless and…” Nolan thought of an old phrase. “Godspeed.”

“Godspeed, indeed.”

* * *

Following the somber ceremony to remove the honored dead from the hangar bay, Justin wandered the ship. Many of his fellow pilots had gone to a multifaith service organized by the chaplains, but he didn’t see the point of going. He’d never been much on religion and typically only went on Easter and Christmas with his family. To him, it was more of a cultural celebration than anything to do with faith. To join in on the service seemed like hypocrisy. He walked for a good hour, down a corridor filled with printed images of those lost. They’d been hung up as a memorial to the fallen. In the quiet of his mind, even as soldiers milled about him, Justin pondered how he’d survived the last forty-eight hours but found no easy answers.

Justin ended up on hangar deck B. Hundreds of enlisted personnel in brightly colored jackets delineating their different departments of the space aviation force worked feverishly. The deck plating was scarred with black carbon scoring from energy-weapon hits, while holes were visible in the superstructure. He found it something of a miracle that the ship had survived in the first place.

After strolling around for a bit and taking in the scene, he arrived at his Sabre. Though battered and scarred, the fighter was still space worthy and looked like it was already under repair. Justin glanced for a moment at the distinctive red stripe painted onto the vertical stabilizer on the back of his craft. It reminded him of the long and storied history of the Red Tails squadron. The unit's lineage traced back to 1940s Earth—during a time when humans still sorted superiority by skin coloration and creed—an idea that was ludicrous on its face, now. I hope to do their memory justice.

A technician rolled out from under the craft and sprang to his feet. “Sorry, Lieutenant! Didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, I got lost on my way to the mess deck. I found myself here and thought I’d look around. Don’t mind me,” Justin replied as the technician interrupted his thoughts.

“We’ll have your bird back in the fight inside of two days. We already did most of the work, but I need a couple of spare engine parts the Greengold is out of. Thankfully, we’re about to resupply.”

The man’s chipper attitude shocked Justin. They’d been fighting for their lives—no quarter asked or given—and the letdown from the rush of combat was intense. He stared at the fighter. “Not bad, Chief. Thanks for getting her back into fighting shape.”

“Have you given some thought to how we’re going to mark your kills?”

Justin hadn’t considered the custom. Typically, when a pilot notched the solo kill of an enemy craft or ship, he was entitled to a decoration under the cockpit canopy. He had seen pictures of dozens of markings from the fighters of the so-called “mega-aces” that had fifty-plus confirmed victories each in the Saurian Wars. Something about it bothered him suddenly, as if a voice in his soul said he shouldn’t celebrate the killing of others. He furrowed his brow. “I hadn’t thought of that yet.”

The technician shrugged. “I’ve got lots of designs to choose from. Let me know what you want. We’ll get it painted. How many did you notch? Sixteen?”

“So I was told. Roughly split between fighters and bombers.”

“That’s incredible—from a reservist, no less!” The man slapped Justin on the shoulder. “You’ll win this war for us single-handedly.”

Justin frowned and bit his lip. “I was just doing my job.” He glanced to his right to see several empty pads where Sabres usually sat. They’d been destroyed in the fight. “We lost eleven pilots.” Losing three pilots out of thirty-six was awful, but a third of all forces engaged was devastating. Justin turned back around and faced the technician. “On second thought, no, don’t paint my kills. I want you to put a marker down for every one we lost.”

After a few moments of silence, the technician nodded. “Outside of custom, but I like it, Lieutenant. We should remember.”

“Yes, we should.” The sentiment flowed into Justin like a wave. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt good, like his fellow warriors would live on, memorialized on the side of his Sabre. It seemed fitting to honor them this way, especially since the Red Tails had been the first fully religiously integrated squadron in the CDF. Justin recalled reading the squadron’s history when he’d been posted to it, including how the original Red Tails were the first group of African-American aviators in the American Army Air Force, with some of the highest kill to loss ratios in the conflict they fought in. They still stood as a beacon of how far humanity had come. Given the League’s assault on us, I suppose we still have a long way to go as a species.

“What symbol would you like me to use?” the technician asked.

Justin paused and tilted his head to the side in thought. “Hm.” A sudden inspiration came to him. “Use the symbol of each pilot’s faith. The Cross, the Star of David, the Crescent and Star, the Khanda…”

“And if they didn’t have a religion?”

“CDF service emblem.”

The technician nodded. “You got it, sir.”

“I suppose I’d better let you get back to fixing up my ride,” Justin said. “Thanks for keeping us in the fight the last few days.”

“My pleasure, sir. You keep blowing up those Leaguers, and we’ll keep you in the fight.”

With a grin, Justin turned on his heel and walked away. While he still felt heavy and struggled to process everything that had happened, the resolve to remember those lost somehow made him feel better. He decided that was the best he could hope for. At least until I finally get through to Michelle on the vidlink.

* * *

Later that evening, Tehrani was hard at work in her day cabin. She’d spent several hours writing letters to the families of those lost, stopping every so often as tears clouded her eyes. She didn’t sob, but an ache had settled in her heart as she struggled to remember each man and woman, some of whom she’d only met a handful of times. After twelve of the letters, she stopped and focused on the other priority: getting the Zvika Greengold ready to get back to the fight.

Major Hodges had already submitted a complete drydock workup, even attaching a notional schedule for repairs. I’ve never seen him quite so motivated before. Upon further rumination, Tehrani realized she’d never been so driven herself. The entire crew came across as focused, like someone had thrown a switch inside of them. A core of steel within her had been unearthed by the recent combat, but she resolved to retain the nurturing part of her command style.

The commlink on her desk came to life with the voice of Lieutenant Singh. “Colonel, I have a flash vidlink for you from General Saurez.”

Tehrani’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Saurez was the overall commander of the space fleet and one of the highest-ranking members of the CDF. Why is COMSPACEFLT contacting me? She touched the commlink’s reply button. “Put him through, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. One moment.”

An older human male appeared on Tehrani’s tablet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Good evening, Colonel.”

“And to you, General Saurez.”

He grinned. “I know. What’s a four-star doing contacting you directly, outside of your chain of command?”

“Well, the thought crossed my mind, sir,” Tehrani replied. She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I suppose nothing should surprise me after the last two days.”

“There’s an old Chinese curse… may you live in interesting times.” Saurez grimaced. “Unfortunately, we’re living through them. I’ve spent the last few hours sifting through after-action reports and kept seeing your ship come up. You’ve been all over the place, Colonel. Fighting like mad at the forefront of a pitched space battle, and your pilots—well, there’s a lot of heroes on the Zvika Greengold’s flight deck.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tehrani’s mind raced with speculation about why the general had contacted her. None of it was good.

“We’re putting the Greengold in for two battle stars to honor its contribution to both saving the Conqueror and the battle of Canaan. I could probably make a case for four, but let’s not get greedy. I reached out tonight because I want to know if you and your crew are ready to get back into the fight.”

“It’ll take a couple of weeks of space-dock time, sir, but the moment that’s done, we’re ready.”

“Your pilots and crew—they’re capable of sustained front-line action? Even though a few weeks ago, your vessel was primarily a training ship?”

Tehrani set her jaw. A bit of annoyance crept into her voice. “Yes, sir. They’re battle-tested and, after the last forty-eight hours, hardened veterans.”

“Ah, I can see that fire in your eyes at the slightest questioning of your crew,” Saurez replied. “Good. You’re going to need that fire, Colonel. I’m sure you remember that they designed the Thane-class escort carriers for convoy duty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I’m putting them back into. We’re not sure where the League will strike next, but we’re confident they’re not going away. That means the CDF has to cover a lot of space.”

An impossibly enormous amount of space. Tehrani frowned. “Will our battle group receive reinforcements? We only have one destroyer and one frigate.” She bit her lip. “And we’re short eleven pilots.”

“Replacement fighters, bombers, and pilots are on the way. Warships, we’re short on. You’ll have to make do until we finish integrating the nation-state military assets.”

“Understood, sir.” While it made sense that manufacturing new small craft was far easier and quicker than building additional escort ships, it still bothered Tehrani deeply. The League seemed to have near-limitless quantities of warships—and the Zvika Greengold wasn’t made for a straight-out slugging match. “Sir, I have to point out that given what we’ve seen of the enemy so far, our strike groups will need significant upgrades in ship-based firepower.”

“I’m well aware of that, Colonel,” Saurez replied, his tone going from friendly to sharp in a moment. “But I can’t give you ships I don’t have. As General Irvine put it… I expect all officers and enlisted personnel of the Coalition Defense Force to do their duty.”

“Yes, sir,” Tehrani replied, forcing her voice to remain completely neutral.

His expression relaxed. “The next few months will not be a walk in the park. I suspect we’ll be tested as we’ve never been tested before, going up against an enemy we know little about. And my suspicion is they’ve been watching us for years—maybe even decades. We’ll be fighting their war. Reacting to their tactics.” Saurez crossed his arms. “It’ll be up to every ship commander to find a way to win, even when the odds are stacked against us.”

“Semper tempus, sir.”

Saurez grinned. “Always in time. I’m certain you and your crew will continue to rise to the occasion.” He paused. “Good luck out there, Colonel.”

“You, too, sir.”

“Godspeed.”

The tablet’s screen blinked off, leaving Tehrani alone once more. She still wondered why the four-star had contacted her. Perhaps he was truly taking my measure. The bottom line was that the Zvika Greengold, and more importantly the soldiers under her command, were going to be at the sharp tip of the spear and by extension always in harm’s way. I’m going to have to force myself to get used to this. She found it difficult not to see herself as the head of their large extended family. She’d led her service to the CDF that way, and it had always worked. But not in a time of war.

Tehrani put her head down and opened another letter draft. She still had twenty-eight names to go.

* * *

After finishing with the crew chief, Justin had ended up back in the Red Tails ready room, even though they were off duty with the Zvika Greengold in space dock and stood down. As he mindlessly worked through after-action reports on his tablets, the hatch slamming shut startled him. He looked up to see Whatley, in his full dress uniform, drop into the front row of chairs a few seats down from him.

Justin sprang to his feet and came to attention. “Sir.”

“At ease, Lieutenant.” When Justin didn’t move, Whatley pointed at the chair behind him. “Sit.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin sat down gingerly.

“I looked over your gun-camera footage from the last battle,” Whatley said. He spread his hands out in front of him. “Four confirmed kills and who knows how many assists. Damn impressive flying, son.”

Justin stared straight ahead. “We still lost eleven good men and women the last two days.”

“It bothers you?”

“Of course it does, sir,” Justin replied, scrunching his face. He gritted his teeth. “There were so many of them. I swear it felt like I blew one Leaguer up and two more took his place.”

Whatley nodded. “That’s combat for you.”

“I’m glad you came by, sir. I want to put my name in to stay in the fight.” Justin swallowed. “I need to see this through.”

“You don’t get a say in it. CDF Command called the entire squadron to active duty an hour ago.” Whatley’s lips curled into a grin. “But I respect that you would’ve volunteered.” He reached out and put his hand on Justin’s arm. “You’re going to have to learn how to handle losing people, including your friends, on a nearly constant basis.”

“How, sir?” Justin didn’t want to think about the feeling he’d had seeing someone he knew die in a split-second explosion of orange flame, with not a damn thing he could do about it.

“Depends on the person. Some of us get hard, some turn to a bottle, and some find God. Others build a network of friends.” Whatley shrugged. “How you do it is up to you, but make no mistake, son. You have to sort that out. Trust me.”

“How do you deal with it, sir?”

“God mostly. Sometimes long talks with friends who serve. Every once in a while, a few drinks out of that bottle I mentioned.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Justin replied. “I suppose I’m not much on God, so I’ll pick something else. Just, ah, not the bottle.”

“At least not while on duty.”

To Justin’s surprise, Whatley didn’t seem interested in judging his beliefs or lack thereof. With all I’ve heard about how old-school this guy is, I figured he’d rip me a new one for that too. The attitude change threw him for a loop.

“Why are you in the ready room?” Whatley asked, as if changing the subject.

Justin forced a smile. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do, and I didn’t want to be around other people. Going back to my cabin wasn’t appealing, either.”

“Let me give you some advice.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Get up, swallow any pride, hurt, or whatever else is bothering you, get down to the officers’ mess, and enjoy a meal with your fellow pilots. Talk to them about good times and bad. Remember the men and women who died today. Then get ready to get up tomorrow and kill some damn Leaguers.” Whatley finished the sentence with a big grin. “Remember… those bastards killed our friends. It’s not our job to judge them. That’s God’s job. Our job is to arrange a face-to-face meeting as soon as possible.”

Justin hadn’t heard the phrase in a long time. His father had said it about the Saurians. “Yes, sir.”

Whatley stood and slapped Justin on the shoulder. “Now get out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied as he put his tablet down and climbed out of the chair. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t think for a moment I’m letting up on you. I will push you harder than anyone ever has. I demand perfection in the cockpit and everywhere else. Because I believe you can be a leader.” Whatley’s voice was quiet, but it held the unmistakable sound of command. “Clear?”

Justin sucked in a breath. “Crystal.”

“Dismissed.”

Justin turned on his heel, strode out of the ready room, and made his way toward the mess hall favored by the pilots.

19

Seeing Feldstein, Adeoye, and Mateus gathered around a table in the busy officers’ mess, Justin waved. He was juggling a tray of food in one hand and his drink in the other. The steward had advertised the meal as fresh turkey with mashed potatoes and green beans, but Justin was sure it was freeze-dried. It didn’t matter—he was grateful for a hot meal and the chance to stretch his legs.

Feldstein waved back, motioning him over.

Carefully placing the tray on the table, Justin dropped into the remaining open seat. “Hey. How’s everyone doing?”

“Oh, peachy. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die in glorious battle against the League of Sol,” Feldstein replied.

Mateus looked down her nose and shook her head in between bites of turkey. “I thought I was the morbid one around here.”

“I am thankful to God to be alive,” Adeoye said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the mess hall. “It seems like a miracle that we’re all sitting here together, breaking bread.”

Justin ate a forkful of mashed potatoes. Compared to ration bars, it was like eating five-star gourmet food. “Or proof of highly improbable events occurring in the universe.”

Feldstein gave him a withering glare. “Oh, come on.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Justin replied. “I’m grateful we’re all here.” He made eye contact with Mateus. “Thought we lost you for a few minutes there.”

“It’ll take more than that for those Leaguers to kill me.”

As they continued eating, the volume suddenly increased on the wall-mounted holoprojector, causing nearly everyone in the mess hall to turn toward it. The Oval Office came into focus, with President Nolan seated behind the desk. His voice carried across the mess. “My fellow citizens of the Terran Coalition, I come to you tonight as we celebrate our victory over the League of Sol.”

Justin noted that every eye around him was on the holoprojector.

“I first wish to thank the brave men and women of the Coalition Defense Force. We can all recall from the long annals of human history when small groups of people accomplished nearly impossible tasks. General Irvine, may her soul rest in peace, was one of those people. Under her leadership, two hundred ships held the line to stop a thousand.” Nolan appeared to be overcome by emotion. “We’re still pulling our honored dead and wounded from the ships and wrecks above Canaan, and the melted alloy from the League’s weapons hasn’t fully cooled. Yet we as citizens of our great nation know what is asked of us in the days ahead.”

“Maybe I should’ve voted for him,” Feldstein commented sotto voce.

Nolan stared directly into the camera. “I came into office thinking my hardest task would be to wrangle a balanced budget while getting Liberals and Liberal-Democrats to work together.” A small smile creased his face. “I doubt I’m alone in saying I wish that were our hardest task for tomorrow. But it’s not. A great man who sat in an office not unlike this one once said that freedom is only a generation away from extinction. My father knew that when he joined the CDF to fight the Saurians, who at the time represented the most significant threat we’d ever faced. I, like many of us, believed that with defeat of the Saurian empire, the Terran Coalition was the sole galactic superpower in our region of the Milky Way.”

Justin stole a few glances at his friends. They were all nodding. I wonder where he’s going with this.

“That belief was a mistake. We beat too many of our swords into plowshares and allowed too much of our defense infrastructure to be mothballed, where it withered away. It was my mistake not to do something about the structural problems in our military when I was sworn in as your president. I can only ask the forgiveness of the citizens of the Terran Coalition and pledge that I will do everything in my power to win this war. Together, we will beat our plowshares back into swords. We will fight across space, on our planets, in asteroid belts, and wherever else this enemy hides. What is our aim? Unconditional surrender of the League of Sol. To sum it up, we won’t stop until we reach Earth—and victory!”

Wild cheers broke out along with sustained applause.

“Shut up! He’s still talking,” Justin yelled, as did others.

The tumult died down quickly.

“Life will change within the Terran Coalition. Those of you old enough to remember the height of the Saurian wars will no doubt recognize some of the measures we’re considering—things like nationalizing manufacturing to prioritize weapons, armor, starships, and other needed war material. Though millions of our citizens are lining up to volunteer to fight, a draft must remain on the table. Let there be no doubt… this will be a long war. It’s a war worth fighting and the challenge of our generation. I plan to speak to you often over these next months, and I ask everyone to set aside our political differences to work together as citizens of the Terran Coalition. We will form a unity government by the end of the week that includes all major parties. I have asked the leaders of our major religions to come together and plan a week-long prayer-and-fasting event.” Nolan bit his lip. “To have any hope of victory, Almighty God must be in our hearts and minds. We formed this nation hundreds of years ago after escaping oppression at the hands of the World Society. Today, we will not surrender in the face of their descendants. What was worth fighting for then is still worth the cost. So, my fellow citizens, stand firm. Work hard. Be prepared to sacrifice. We’re in this together.”

Nolan paused. “During our last conflict, the CDF went into combat with the battle cry of ‘Fight the good fight, no matter the odds.’ Let that be our battle cry now. No matter the odds! May God bless you, and may God continue to bless the Terran Coalition.”

Silence followed in the mess hall for a few seconds. Then someone with a voice that Justin didn’t recognize cried, “Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”

“No matter the odds!” Justin and dozens more screamed. As he did, he realized that he was part of something greater than himself. He was simultaneously shaken to the core and prouder than he’d ever felt in his life.

Clapping rang out for what seemed like several minutes until it finally died down and allowed those seated at Justin’s table to resume their conversation.

“I’m ready to go cap some Leaguers,” Mateus said between bites. “Just point to their nearest carrier.”

“Going to single-handedly eradicate the League of Sol?” Feldstein asked with a smirk.

“I’ll leave a few for you. Just so you can feel good about yourselves.”

They all laughed.

Adeoye took a sip of his drink. “Let us see who has more victories in a month, Ms. Mateus. I suspect it will be me.”

“Oh, really?” Mateus deadpanned.

“He’s a quiet one,” Justin said. “You always have to be careful of the quiet ones.”

Feldstein took her last bite of potatoes. “And on that note, I’m going to the shul.”

“What’s a shul?” Mateus asked.

“Church for Jews,” Feldstein replied hastily.

“What’s that? Like two, three times in twenty-four hours?” Justin grinned. “Might need to get a cot set up for you.”

“Oh, lookee here, a regular funny man,” Feldstein said as she stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to pray after spending a day trying to kill people while they’re trying to kill me.”

“All I need is a stiff drink and a deck of cards so I can clean you all out.” Mateus took a swig from her glass. “Who’s with me?”

Adeoye leaned forward and grinned. “Count me in.”

“I’m heading for my cabin,” Justin announced. “Rack time, and if I’m lucky, talking to my family awaits.” He stood.

“Take care, Lieutenant. That was some great flying today,” Feldstein said. “See you around, guys.”

As Justin walked away, he heard Mateus and Adeoye ribbing each other about who was going to win the card game, and the banter brought a smile to his face. One thing was certain—they’d gelled as a team. Where the sands of fortune would take him, he didn’t know. But at least the president seemed to know what needed to be done, and Justin was ready to get on with it.

* * *

By 2000 hours Coalition Mean Time, Justin had returned to his cabin. While much of the crew headed down to the surface to take shore leave while the Zvika Greengold underwent repairs, he wasn’t interested. Above all, Justin wanted to see and talk to his wife. Lieutenant Singh had announced over the PA system as he walked down the corridor that the communications blackout was over.

The moment Justin crossed the threshold into his small cabin, he grabbed his tablet and engaged the vidlink application. A few moments later, Michelle’s face, framed by a dark room that he recognized as their bedroom, came into focus.

“Baby, oh my God, you’re okay!” The words flooded out of her mouth. “I was so worried.”

Justin sat on the couch, cradling the tablet like it was the most sacred object in the universe. “I’m sorry. I tried to call, but there’s been a system-wide communication blackout.”

Tears poured down her cheeks as she pushed her long brown hair out of the way. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah. The news is reporting it, right? No enemy ships left in Canaan system,” Justin replied in a monotone. “I was so scared I wouldn’t see you again.”

“Did you fight?”

He bit his lip. “I flew four combat missions in twenty-four hours.” The enormity of what he’d been through, as he uttered the words, finally caught up with him. “We all did.”

“When are you coming home?” Michelle asked through her tears. “Maggie is worried sick, but I’ve been telling her we couldn’t talk right now, and everything was okay, but she needs to hear it from you.” She shook. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, hon.” Justin touched the screen. “My unit’s been called to active duty.”

“Then you’re not coming home,” she replied quietly.

“No. There’s some talk about shore leave in a few months, if it goes well. But all indications are this war is just beginning.”

Michelle sucked in a breath and tried to dry her tears. “I understand, baby. Do you think we can talk while you’re out there?”

“No force in this universe will prevent me from vidlinking my wife and daughter,” Justin said. He forced a smile to his lips. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She started to cry again. “Three families got notifications today,” she said between sobs. “On our block. I stayed by the door, on my knees, begging God not to let it be you.”

Tears formed in Justin’s eyes, and he let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. He answered my prayers, because you’re still here.” She pursed her lips. “Maggie’s asleep… it’s two a.m. here, but next time?”

“Yes. I’ll plan a little better.” Michelle had long ago accepted that any faith he had wasn’t shown outwardly. Even if I know she wishes that were different. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll come home, Justin.”

“I promise you that with every fiber of my being, I will do everything in my power to come home.” He glanced down. “But as I’ve learned the last two days, combat is unforgiving. Tomorrow might be my day. I don’t know. What I know is I’ve got some great reasons to fight hard, stay alive, and hold both of you in my arms again.”

Michelle, despite her tears, grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, Justin Spencer.”

“You do that. I’d better get off of this before I spend my comm rations.”

“Rations?”

“Wartime… everything’s going to be rationed, from what I heard. We’ve never known anything like this in our lifetimes.”

“I suppose I might have to learn how to sew. Maggie goes through clothes every two weeks.”

Justin laughed. “Hopefully it won’t get that bad.” He paused and touched the screen again. “I love you.”

“I love you too. God bless.”

The screen went dark, and Justin set the tablet back on his desk. He thought of Michelle and playing with Maggie in their backyard. Determined to make it through another day, he took off his duty uniform and prepared for bed. Memories of happier days sustained him, and he eventually fell into sleep—with the belief that the next day, the CDF would take the fight to the enemy.

Epilogue

Unity Station

Deep Space—Between the Orion and the

Sagittarius Arms

25 October 2433

Unity Station was the largest space-borne construction ever undertaken by the League of Sol. For fifty years, they had slowly built it into a mammoth facility capable of supporting twenty thousand crew and hundreds of ships, and it had enough storage space to supply fleets of vessels a thousand strong. The station was the pinnacle of socialist engineering and a representation of how far they would go to ensure the whole of humanity existed solely under the banner of the League.

Fleet Admiral Chang Yuen stepped off the VIP shuttle that had carried him from the LX Vasily Kanin to Unity Station. The moment he did, a massive honor guard of hundreds of League Navy sailors came to attention. Their arms snapped to their chests in the salute of the League. He returned the gesture as the familiar tune of their anthem blared from an unseen speaker somewhere on the hangar deck. At the end of the rows of sharply dressed men and women, another admiral in a black dress uniform stood. Yuen made his way slowly through the lines.

“Admiral Yuen, I welcome you to Unity Station,” the other man stated. His name tag read Admiral Yegor Voronin.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve had quarters prepared for you, and crews are standing by to resupply your flagship.”

Yuen smiled thinly. “I suggest we dispense with the pleasantries and make our way to your office to discuss the war effort.”

The Russian stared at him with cold, hard eyes. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers, and a young lieutenant appeared at Voronin’s side. “Please escort Admiral Yuen to the observation deck. I will join him shortly.”

Both men touched their closed right fists to their chests. Yuen stalked off, following the lieutenant. Instead of making small talk, he spent the time observing the surrounding sailors. To his disgust, most had numerous uniform violations, and discipline appeared lax, as small groups congregated around others performing their duties. Individualism is never a moment away from threatening our society. To Yuen, individualism was the worst enemy a human could face. The League had spent centuries eradicating it from all aspects of their system, replacing it with a spirit of shared sacrifice and glory. Anyone who displayed the slightest hint of thought against the principles of the state was corrected.

A ten-minute walk later, Yuen and the lieutenant arrived at a well-appointed conference room adorned with the flag of the League of Sol and various posters, some urging citizens to report antisocial behavior and others showing victory over the capitalists of the Terran Coalition. The lieutenant departed, leaving Yuen alone.

By Yuen’s count, Admiral Voronin arrived twenty minutes later. Yuen spent the time analyzing personnel files and ship readiness reports from the roughly seventy vessels that had escaped the disaster at Canaan.

Voronin cleared his throat as he walked through the hatch. “My apologies. I had a few issues to deal with.”

Yuen held up his hand. “Seville will arrive back at Earth shortly. I am his replacement.” He grinned coldly. “This post should’ve been mine and would have, if it weren’t for the interference of Admiral Lambert. Now that it is… we’re going to do things my way.”

“The political officers seem to insist on us doing it their way.” The large Russian cleared his throat. “I don’t want things to get off on the wrong foot here. We have equal rank. My duty is to command this station and see that you have the resources and logistical support to win the war. Forget everything else. I want our sailors’ sacrifice to mean something. We lost a hundred thousand men and women in that stupid cluster of a battle with the Terrans.” His gaze drilled into Yuen. “Don’t make the same mistakes.”

“A political officer made the mistakes—one with little tactical training. Mine will realize the gravity of the situation and not interfere.”

Voronin stared. “You have control over your political officer?” He glanced around the room as if he was afraid of being overheard. “That’s not possible.”

“It is when you catch the aforementioned political officer engaging in individualist behavior.” Yuen licked his lips. “He won’t trouble us. Now, the next wave of ships will be here in two weeks.”

“How many?”

“Three hundred. Not enough for a straight-up slugfest with the Coalition Defense Force, but the CDF has to spread out, covering dozens of planets. We, on the other hand, will consolidate our strength and attack at their weakest points, landing our troops and taking over their outermost worlds.”

“That’s what Seville wanted to do,” Voronin replied. “But they wouldn’t let him.”

“His loss, our good fortune. I’ve never much trusted the French element of the League, anyway.” The animosity between the French, the Russians, and the Chinese was legendary, as they represented three distinct wings of ideology. As a student of The Art of War, Yuen was always playing the long game. He thought not in days, weeks, or months but years and decades. The Terran Coalition might have superior technology and an element of esprit de corps, but the League would eventually win out. In the end, capitalist democracies defeated themselves. That they’d had to flee Earth in the first place was proof positive. “Work with me. Together, we will crush the enemy.”

“For the glory of the League,” Voronin replied. He slapped his hand to his chest.

Yuen mimicked the gesture. “For the glory of the League.”

THE END

Battlegroup Z: Book 2 – Hostile Spike: Fresh off their last minute victory, Justin Spencer and the Zvika Greengold are forced into battle against overwhelming force - can they hold the line once more? Find out in book 2!

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Battlegroup Z - Book Two - Hostile Spike: Sneak Peak

“This is Beta Three declaring an emergency. Master alarm is lit, reactor fai—”

Justin winced. He glanced at the squadron-readiness view on his HUD and saw a bright-red dot next to Lieutenant Felder’s name. No transponder came from his suit, and the system rated the Sabre as a total loss. Another dead pilot.

Around Justin, the battle raged. Feldstein was engaged in a tail chase with a League fighter, while he’d sent Mateus and Adeoye to screen the bombers from another enemy force. All in all, it was barely controlled chaos.

Red plasma balls streaked by Justin’s cockpit canopy, and he tracked down their source quickly. A single League craft had settled into his six o’clock while he was distracted by the at-large combat picture. Justin yanked his flight stick back, pulling what would’ve amounted to fourteen Gs if his Sabre’s inertial damping systems weren’t functioning at peak capacity. In a matter of seconds, he’d looped around and passed the enemy fighter. Whoever was flying the League craft wasn’t an exceptionally well-trained pilot, because they failed to alter course, and Justin finished the tight loop and ended up on the Leaguer’s tail.

“Alpha One, fox two,” he called while simultaneously launching two heat-seeking missiles.

Both warheads raced away from Justin’s Sabre and accelerated to full attack speed. The League fighter did little to evade, and both hit home, blowing the enemy craft apart in a cloud of super-fine dust.

“Alpha One, splash one.” The “hard kill” call was something Justin had become used to making. His mind flashed back to sixty days ago when he’d never engaged a hostile target, much less snuffed out another human being’s life.

But he had no time to ponder such things, as the next wave of League fighters launched out of Master Four’s launch bay. How many of these damn things do they have, anyway? It seemed to him as if they were facing a never-ending wave of enemies. While the Leaguers lacked quality, they made up for it in sheer quantity.

Justin was close enough to the heavy cruiser that its point-defense systems took long-range potshots at him. He made several juking turns as he checked Feldstein’s status. She was still tangled up in a furball, and the rest of Alpha was providing close support to the Boar element, which in turn was attacking Master Five, the last destroyer that had jumped in.

Blue neutron beams slashed through the blackness of the void, crisscrossing with red beams and superheated plasma balls. Both the Zvika Greengold and the Marcus Luttrell were closely engaging the League destroyer that had successfully jumped into the middle of the freighter convoy. While both ships gamely engaged the enemy, the Leaguers weaved through and around civilian vessels, peppering them with weapons fire.

As much as Justin wanted to peel away and join the fight against the capital ship, his task was to keep knocking down the incoming fighters. Maybe one of these days, I’ll transfer to a bomber squadron. It’d be interesting to be the one delivering heavy ordnance. The missile lock-on buzzed, making Justin focus on the LIDAR display in his HUD. Three enemy warheads were heading straight for him. He briefly pondered the wildly differing skill levels of the pilots they faced. Whoever the latest group was seemed to know their business.

Justin triggered his chaff dispenser and sent a wave of sensor-obscuring decoys into the void while choosing an enemy fighter to engage. Because of the extreme quantity differential, he avoided a head-on engagement and instead loosed a Vulture at the craft outside the League formation.

“Alpha One, watch your location. You’re too close to Master Four,” Whatley said.

“Roger, Major,” Justin replied tightly. A glance at the master overlay in his HUD showed the danger. This is going to be close. With his right hand steady on the flight stick, Justin angled his craft around, deftly avoiding the cruiser’s point-defense kill zone and sliding into the enemy fighter’s six o’clock position. He loosed a flurry of neutron cannon bolts into its aft shields, severely weakening them and scoring several hits on its hull.

The League craft weren’t content to sit still and let Justin finish them off one by one. The formation shifted as a unit, protecting the damaged fighter as much as possible. They turned back to his Sabre and executed a high-speed firing pass that left Justin’s forward shields greatly diminished and approaching failure.

I need to change this up. Justin reached deep into his bag of tricks and decided to try a trick he’d seen Major Whatley perform. He decoupled the thrusters from the inertial damping system and waited for the right moment, allowing all three fighters chasing him to settle into a stable pursuit course. With a grin, Justin pivoted his Sabre around and fired a long stream of blue neutron energy. His first target was caught entirely unaware and exploded after a multitude of shots hit its hull.

The other two enemy fighters attempted to veer off. Justin sent two Eagle heat-seeking missiles after the closest craft and turned his attention to the third with another fusillade of neutron-cannon bolts. The Leaguer’s shields quickly failed, and four hits to its hull later, it blew apart in a brief orange explosion. Feeling good about his use of a precision tactic he’d only seen employed once before, Justin resynched his thrusters and enabled the inertial damping system.

But Justin forgot the other threat: the Rand-class heavy cruiser off the starboard side of his Sabre. In combat, a person tended to narrow their focus onto a specific danger or set of hazards closest to them—and that tendency typically led to disaster. As powerful point-defense fire erupted around his craft, Justin immediately focused on the threat the cruiser posed. The shield arc facing the enemy collapsed with one hit. He tightened his grip on the flight stick and wrenched it to one side, going into a series of maneuvers known as guns-D. They were a last-ditch effort to avoid overwhelming fire with wild and random course changes.

“Spencer, I told you to watch out. Break to a minimum distance of two kilometers from that cruiser now,” Whatley barked.

“I’m trying, Major,” Justin replied through gritted teeth. Even with the outstanding protection of his Sabre’s inertial damping systems, by whipping through the twists and turns, he was generating significant g-forces and stress on his body.

“Try harder.”

Justin grumbled, “If it’s so damn easy, why aren’t you out here doing it?”

He started to breathe a sigh of relief as he cleared one kilometer from the enemy vessel. But that relief turned to fear as his fighter rocked to one side. Another hit. While the plasma ball caught him on a different shield arc, it did far more damage than the last one. Red lights lit up across his HUD, indicating internal system damage. The flight stick suddenly became untethered from the movement of his craft. He wrenched it to one side, but the Sabre rocketed onward in a straight line. “This is Alpha One declaring an emergency. I have total loss of flight-surface control.”

“Detach maneuvering thruster control and fly manually,” Whatley said.

The master alarm blared, making Justin’s ears ring. He pulled up the HUD interface and attempted to follow the wing commander’s instructions, to no avail. Red lights spread across every system in his craft. I’ve got to eject before the reactor goes critical. As the thought raced through his mind, point-defense fire filled the void around him. “Negative, Major. My master alarm is lit, and reactor temp is rising. Initiating ejection sequence.”

Justin double-checked his suit pressure, confirmed it was one hundred percent, and pulled the bright-yellow Eject lever under the seat. It triggered a series of explosive bolts that blew the canopy off, and a rocket motor ignited, sending him flying out of the doomed Sabre. His emergency beacon kicked in automatically, and he hoped against hope that the onboard fuel wouldn’t give out before he was out of the blast radius of his former ride.

CONTINUE READING NOW

Battlegroup Z: Book 2 – Hostile Spike: Fresh off their last minute victory, Justin Spencer and the Zvika Greengold are forced into battle against overwhelming force - can they hold the line once more?

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Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

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Breach of Faith

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Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

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Deception Fleet

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Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Acknowledgments and Afterword

Before I share my acknowledgments, I want to include as a bit of an Authors Afterword some notes on the namesakes of the CSV Zvika Greengold and the Red Tails squadron. Those of you who’ve read a Daniel Gibbs novel or two know I like to weave in references to people from history. Some are self-explanatory, such as Marcus Luttrell or Yitzhak Rabin.

Others are not, as I found out during the ARC process.

First, the Red Tails squadron; it’s named in tribute to the 332d Fighter Group. A unit of the famed Tuksegee Airmen, the 332d was the first African-American fighter unit to serve in combat with the US Army Air Force. They derived their nickname from the distinctive red vertical stabilizer fins on their aircraft, and had a near-perfect bomber escort record against the Luftwaffe. There’s some great Wikipedia entries on the subject, as well as a terrific movie entitled “Red Tails” that tells their story.

Second, Zvika Greengold. After WWII military history, modern-day Israeli military history is my next most read subject. During the Yom Kippur War in 1973, then Lieutenant Greengold commanded a small group of two damaged tanks. With them, he faced down multiple Syrian army divisions. Estimates place the number of enemy armor units destroyed by his hand at between twenty and sixty. Even when burned over twenty percent of his body, Lt. Greengold fought on against incredible odds. For his actions, he was awarded the Israeli Medal of Valor. It is the highest award for Valor in the Israeli Defense Force — analogous to the US Medal of Honor.

With that, I’ll begin my acknowledgments.

I’d like to start by again thanking my father for the many hours of amazing sea stories from his thirty years of service to the US Navy. A few worked their way into my stories, and gave me a window into the life of a sailor far from home.

To all those who have helped me over the last three years in making this crazy dream of a sci-fi universe where Christians, Jews, and Muslims work together for the betterment of all – thank you. The list is too numerous to count, but you know who you are.

To my editor, Susie – Thanks for helping me polish this book to the point it's something to be proud of – and for not rolling your eyes too much at my constant questions.

To those who have sent me emails over the last few years saying that the Echoes of War series rekindled your faith – thank you. I can think of no greater honor.

As always, I give thanks to those brave men and women in the US military I have had the pleasure of working beside for the last fifteen years. Thank you for your service.

Finally, I give thanks to God for the words I’ve written and the life granted to write them in.

Until next time, Godspeed.

- Daniel Gibbs

Echoes of War - Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Fight the Good Fight by Daniel Gibbs

Copyright © 2018-2021 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibbs website at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

3D Art by Benoit Leonard

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact info@eotp.net.

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Both available FREE, only at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com/standfirm.

Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

1

CSV Artemis

Patrol Sector 14A – Terran Coalition / League of Sol Active Combat Zone

5 February 2444

Corporal David Cohen glanced at the clock. It’s time for morning prayers. But there’s no way I can make it to the shul and still keep on schedule for our repairs. An Orthodox Jew, he was heartsick when he couldn’t make it to prayers.

Taking a moment before heading to his post, David stood and prayed quietly. “May the Lord bless you and protect you. May the Lord shine His countenance upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His favor upon you and grant you peace.” The prayer was from the book of Numbers, in the Torah. I hope someday we can have peace. But the ship isn’t going to repair itself.

David hefted his work belt and made sure it was strapped correctly around his waist. Tall and six months out of boot camp, he’d kept in good physical condition with a daily exercise regimen, despite the challenges of life in the fleet. His ship, the Coalition Star Vessel Artemis, was a small frigate specializing in point defense. She was assigned to a space battle group centered around a Saratoga-class fleet carrier engaged in combat operations against their enemies, the League of Sol.

Making good time, David walked the passageways like a practiced professional, even after only a few months of being stationed in the fleet. After he’d been given a battlefield promotion to corporal, his duties consisted of leading a damage-control team during and after battle. This shift, they were working on a section of the ship that had experienced a total loss of pressure and significant battle damage in their last engagement. They would replace piping and wiring bundles throughout the damaged bulkheads and overhead, since the hull patching had been completed the day before.

A young private from New Washington, Everard Beckett, groused as he pulled another length of burnt cabling out of the wall. “Corporal, can’t we just patch this stuff on the surface and wait for an overhaul to make it look pretty?”

David narrowed his eyes as he pushed through another bundle of wire. “While we’re at it, why don’t we just leave the holes in the side of the ship? I mean, we’ve been disabled four times in the last three weeks. Wouldn’t want to do it right so the ship is at maximum combat effectiveness for the next time we fight the League, would we?”

Private Rachel Munford laughed. “There we go, ladies and gentlemen. Another attempt at cutting corners smacked down by our esteemed corporal.”

Snorting, David pulled open another wiring tray. “I don’t know why I bother with you, Beckett. You’ll be someone else’s problem in a couple of years anyway.”

“Oh yeah, we know you want to get out, Corp,” Beckett said. “If I had a credit for every time you told us about your big plans to be a rabbi, I could buy one of these boats and go into business for myself, privateering League ships.”

“Are you daft, Beckett? The League doesn’t have any merchant ships on this side of the galactic arm for us to privateer,” Munford said. “I’m just glad we’re away from the front lines for a few days while we get repaired. Being able to relax and actually take a shower is nice. Sometimes it really is the little things in life.”

“How about less jawing and more pulling cables so we can still get to the mess while hot food is being served,” David snapped.

“Aye, aye, Corporal,” Beckett said, redoubling his efforts to pull the burnt cable out of its housing.

Over the next hour, the team worked their way through the passageway, and David noted with satisfaction that they were far closer to restoring the cabling to a functional state.

Just as he was going to order a break for chow, the alert klaxon sounded. Without needing an order, the team picked up their tools and loose materials.

The commanding officer’s voice suddenly boomed across the ship-wide intercom known as 1MC. “Attention, all hands. Prepare to repel boarders. I say again, prepare to repel boarders!”

David instantly recognized the voice of Major Benson Pipes, and his mind leaped into overdrive.

“Beckett, Munford, weapons locker… now.”

A look of fear crossed Beckett’s face. “Uh, Corporal, we’re not Marines. Shouldn’t we fall back to a protected space?”

In truth, David was terrified, not only of the enemy but also for the lives of those under his command. But he resolved not to show it and press on. “No. We can’t chicken out here, Beckett. We’ve got to bottle up any hostiles until our Marines can get here and save us. Let’s go!”

After leading the team to the nearest weapons locker, David entered his access code and swung the door open. He quickly passed out armored vests followed by particle-beam sidearms, battle rifles, and extra magazines. “Ugh. Only one pulse grenade. I guess the master-at-arms didn’t restock this one properly.” He took the grenade for himself.

Beckett threw an armored vest over his head and secured the straps around his chest. “Only things worse than corporals are sergeants. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” David replied as he inserted a magazine into his battle rifle, and the others followed suit.

Munford racked the action on her battle rifle. “Ever wonder how much razzing Major Pipes got in boot camp? With a name like that…”

“Pipes, like water pipes,” Beckett said, doing a passible impersonation of the CO’s voice.

“I didn’t realize I ordered you to give us a comedy routine, Beckett. You’re welcome to share that bit of knowledge with the major after we’re done here. Now stow it.”

A loud thud nearly knocked them off their feet.

“They’ll breach the hull momentarily,” David said, steadying himself by holding on to the bulkhead. Working hard to ignore his building panic, he tried to focus on his next action. Drill Instructor Salazar always said to solve one problem at a time.

“Let’s double back one passageway over.” Seeing bafflement in the others’ eyes, he explained, “It’s a choke point. They’ll have to push through that area to get to anything of importance. We’ll hold there until the Marines arrive.”

“Or we all get killed,” Beckett said.

Ignoring Beckett’s doubt, David led them to a junction between two passageways, an excellent defensive position. “Beckett, take the right.” He tried to convince himself that the incoming League troops were nowhere near as tough as his drill instructor. If I survived Salazar, I can survive anything. “Munford, take the left.”

David crouched, shielding his body with the bulkhead, and pointed the battle rifle down the corridor. “Remember, they’ll use cannon fodder to wear us down. Aim well, fire short bursts, and remember that the real challenge is what comes after them.”

“Isn’t anyone trying to kill us a challenge, Corporal?” Munford asked.

“Valid point. You know what I mean, though. They always hit us with green troops and reeducated prisoners first. We can do this, team.”

After they’d held their position for what seemed like an eternity, the first League troops appeared from behind another bulkhead. David took aim and squeezed the trigger of his rifle, just like he had been taught in basic training. Nothing happened. He froze as the two Leaguers brought their rifles up and sent a volley of shots in his direction. The bullets smacked the walls of the corridor and the bulkheads, bouncing off the hardened alloy in a shower of sparks.

David cleared the mental block in his mind like the chamber of his rifle. He ducked back to cover as Beckett and Munford returned fire. While Munford opened up on full automatic with “pray and spray” tactics, Beckett carefully sighted down his weapon and squeezed the trigger once, putting a burst into the center mass of an onrushing enemy. When that soldier fell, the one behind tripped over the body, losing his balance and dropping his rifle.

Quickly checking his weapon, David realized he hadn’t chambered a round. I can’t believe I made that kind of rookie mistake. He slid the action back and heard the satisfying click of a bullet sliding in. Leaning out, he brought the rifle up and aimed at the remaining soldier, who was fumbling with a sidearm, and squeezed the trigger. All three rounds from the burst hit the Leaguer’s chest, and he flopped backward, landing on his fellow.

As the sound of gunfire subsided, David felt stunned by the brutality of combat and the results of his actions. He’d never fired a weapon in anger before, let alone killed anyone. It took a moment to snap himself out of his funk and hit the communications panel on the wall. “This is damage-control-team fifteen, deck five, passageway 3B. We have engaged League boarders. Request Marine backup.”

“We should fall back, Corporal!” Beckett shouted, his voice breaking.

“Get it together, Private!” David barked, trying to project confidence, though he felt anything but. “If we don’t hold here, the League gets full run of deck five. You know what that means.”

“They could take the engine room and jump the ship out,” Munford said.

“Exactly. I’m not interested in being a League POW the rest of my life. If they hold true to form, next we’ll be rushed by a human wave.”

“First guy up has a gun, second holds the ammo, and the third carries on once we finish killing the front of the line?” Beckett asked with a trace of mirth.

“That’s a myth.”

“Corporal, they’re coming,” Munford said urgently.

Incoming fire splattered against the bulkhead, pinging off the hard metal. David felt a searing pain in his leg and looked down to see red spreading out from a cut in his uniform pants. With the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body, the pain only lasted for a few moments.

“Return fire!” David shouted then leaned out and fired short bursts. He hit two more enemy soldiers, but numerous other Leaguers followed them and charged toward his small squad. They advanced without any real tactics, moving forward in a human wave, one with extremely lethal weapons.

David pulled out the pulse grenade on his belt. I’ve only got one. They’ll overrun us if I don’t use it, so I’d better make it count. But we need more than just a grenade blast right now. He peered back into the junction, desperately searching for any advantage they could use. Through the fog of the battle, his mind cleared and brought him an idea. The environmental controls!

“Beckett, there’s an artificial-gravity-control node right next to your leg. Open it and reverse the polarity for the passageway directly in front of us.”

“But it’ll only last a couple of seconds before the safeties reset and lock us out, Corp.”

“We only need a few seconds. Now, do it.”

Beckett opened the panel and fumbled around with something inside. “Got it, Corp.”

“Pulse, over!” David shouted, pulling the pin from the grenade before tossing it down the passageway.

He waited for the imminent explosion with his hands over ears, mouth open and eyes closed, hoping the other two had done the same, as they’d been trained. With the explosion, he threw himself back into the line of fire to find a most peculiar sight: a dozen enemy soldiers in a heap, collapsed on the overhead.

While a few of the poorly trained League soldiers groped about in the mound of bodies, trying to stand up, most held their hands up to their faces or fired blindly toward the bulkhead opening. David fired in bursts along with Munford and Beckett, targeting the few that still had their weapons. Once those enemies were down, the three of them methodically felled the rest as they groped for fallen weapons and struggled to draw holstered sidearms. The bodies that lay beyond were too numerous to count.

In the lull of the combat, they exchanged glances. David’s hands shook, making it difficult for him to reload his weapon. The resetting artificial gravity generator whined, preparing to flip the space beyond right side up again. Nice trick… while it lasted.

“I didn’t sign up for the Marines,” Munford said.

David couldn’t tell whether she was being serious or trying to lighten the situation. “I don’t think any of us did,” he replied, trying to focus on anything except the pile of bloody bodies around the corner. “They’re going to hit us again any second now.” He peered toward the next bulkhead, looking for a sign they were coming.

“We’re out of grenades, Corporal. If they hit us again like that, we’re dead. We’ve got to pull back,” Beckett said.

“No. We hold until the Marines arrive.”

“Why? We’re not equipped for this. We’re a freaking damage-control team, for the love of God!”

“Look, we don’t have many Marines on this tub. All of us are trained to repel boarders, just like we’re all trained to fight fires. Keep it together, Beckett. We can do this.”

“Aye, aye, Corporal,” Beckett muttered, finally getting his rifle reloaded.

“Marines? I call them the Terran Coalition’s misguided children,” Munford said.

I guess she was going for humor after all. For all the calm David portrayed, his mind was a roiling sea of fear that threatened to break free. They likely wouldn’t survive another push, and he was on the verge of ordering them to fall back when the communications panel beeped.

“Damage-control team fifteen, this is Sergeant Morrison. Are you still with us?”

David slapped the control. “Yes, Sergeant. Not sure for how long.”

“You must hold your position. League boarding parties are all over deck five, and if you let them get past you, they’ll flank our defense and overrun the section—maybe the ship. We’ll be there ASAP, but it’s all on you, Corporal Cohen. Can you do it?”

Without even thinking through what he was about to say, David replied, “We’ll hold, Sergeant. Whatever it takes.” He stepped back from the panel and eyed the other two. “No matter what.”

Beckett and Munford nodded grimly, courage, resolution, and fear flooding their faces.

Seconds later, another wave of League troops surged forward, firing down the passageway. Panic akin to his own filled their eyes, but they didn’t stop.

Bursts weren’t cutting it. “Full auto,” he ordered, toggling his rifle and hoping the others could hear him clearly above the din of battle.

Holding down the trigger and fighting to keep the gun level rather than wasting its precious stopping power on the overhead, he emptied the magazine in one long burst. He heard his fellows doing the same, sending dozens of rounds down the passageway in a storm of steel.

The carnage from going full auto broke the enemy assault. Twisted bodies lay on top of one another on the deck. Some screamed in pain. The smell of propellent hung heavily in the air, and spent shell casings were scattered all around.

When a big, bulky power-armored League Marine came into view behind more cannon fodder, David’s heart sank. Power armor, even the less effective League variant, was extraordinarily potent and made its wearer difficult to disable or kill. “Goliath! Aim for the upper body and head.”

Munford leaned out and sprayed the enemy formation with unaimed fire. As her rifle clicked dry, return fire from the Goliath’s directed-energy weapon ripped into her arm and threw her to the ground, bringing forth a grunt of pain.

“Beckett, when I fire, pull Munford back,” David yelled over the din of battle, reloading his rifle. He was on his last magazine. Leaning to the right, he opened fire, trying to distract the Goliath.

Beckett grabbed Munford’s good arm and dragged her out of the passageway and the line of fire.

“Get her to the rear and find a corpsman.”

“They’ll overrun you, David,” Munford said, trying to stem the flow of blood from her arm. Funny. She called me David, not Corporal. Probably the pain getting to her head.

“Yeah, Corp, we can’t leave you,” Beckett added.

“I’ll be all right. Get moving. She needs medical attention.” David fired blindly down the passageway. “Now, go.”

To cover their escape, David leaned back out and emptied his rifle into the Leaguers. It almost worked.

Dragging Munford across the deck, Beckett had almost gotten her to safety when a stray energy beam caught him in the chest. He fell to the ground in a heap. Munford lay behind him, frozen in shock.

A moment later, she found the ability to flee, scrambling a few more feet to land behind the next bulkhead. Munford’s harsh grunts of effort echoed in David’s head, distracting him as he felt for his sidearm. He was out of bullets for the rifle. With the practiced muscle memory of his training, he slipped the pulse pistol into his hand and brought it up while turning the energy setting to maximum. Firing through the bulkhead opening, he felled another Leaguer who made the mistake of blindly charging forward.

A stray bullet connected with David’s shoulder, sending him backward and causing searing pain to radiate through his body. His pistol clattered to the deck.

He knew he was about to die.

At any moment, the Goliath would crash into the junction, and even if David could kill him, they would come one right after the other until an enemy finally ended his life. His thoughts ran wild. I don’t want to die here. I never wanted to kill anyone. I cost Beckett his life. The last thought caused a wave of guilt that distracted him from the task at hand.

David forced himself to pick up the fallen sidearm, fighting through excruciating pain to aim at the bulkhead opening. Time slowed as the Goliath burst through the bulkhead. The immense armor suit was even more foreboding at close range. David squeezed the trigger, and the energy beam connected with the Leaguer’s helmet, its weakest piece.

The heavy armor held as the Leaguer brought his own weapon up. He fired, sending a burst of rounds into David’s torso, slamming into his thin body armor. More pain swept over David, and his pistol jerked up as the beam finally penetrated the enemy’s helmet and sliced through his head. Little blood or human matter sprayed because of the cauterizing effects of the energy weapon.

David let go of the trigger, and the Goliath collapsed to the ground. Gasping, David felt shocked he was still alive. With the wind knocked out of him, he barely registered the curses and shouts from the remaining League troops. He tried to force his body to comply with the mental command to raise the pistol once again, then shots poured down the passageway from behind him. For a moment, he despaired, certain the enemy had flanked them, until he realized they were friendlies, thanks to the distinctive sounds of the weapons. The Marines had finally arrived. A group of six, heavily armed and armored, thundered into the passageway junction.

“Report, Corporal!” the lead Marine, Sergeant Morrison, yelled as they filed into ready positions, weapons up and searching for targets.

David couldn’t force a word out. He still reached for his sidearm, hands shaking and brain foggy.

Morrison came over and shook his shoulder roughly. “Corporal!”

The loud word snapped David out of his trance. “My guys got hit. Beckett and Munford.” He pointed toward Beckett’s fallen body and the bulkhead Munford hid behind.

The sergeant spoke into his communicator. “I need corpsmen on deck five, passageway 3B, ASAP.” As he took in the scene, Morrison’s eyes widened. He turned back to David with surprise. “Damn, Corporal, you want to transfer to the Marines? There’s got to be thirty dead Leaguers out there—and you took out a Goliath to boot.”

Shock began to set in, and David shook uncontrollably.

“Corporal, are you wounded?”

“I’m okay. Take care of Beckett and Munford first.”

Morrison knelt, putting his hands on the bullets sticking out of David’s armored vest. “Damn lucky, son. You’re going into shock. Lie still, okay? Help will be here soon. Your fight’s over for today.”

David nodded at Morrison without trying to reply. Taking in the death and destruction around him, he stared at the dead bodies of the Leaguers and back at his hands several times. What did I do? I… killed them.

Even though the commandment Thou shalt not kill didn’t really apply to war, it still roared into David’s mind with the punishing tone of an angry teacher. It was them or me. Does that make it okay? Eyes fixed on Becketts’s body, David focused on a traditional prayer for the dead. He whispered, “God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heavens’ heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of Your Angels, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest.”

Two corpsmen ran into the passageway, carrying a medical bag and a portable stretcher. One knelt next to David. “Corporal, can you hear me?”

“Privates Beckett and Munford need medical assistance before me.”

“He’s got a shoulder wound. Looks like it went straight through. Leg abrasion consistent with a graze. Likely rib fractures from the bullets and possible internal bleeding.”

Out of the corner of his eye, David watched the other corpsman check Beckett’s vitals. “This one’s dead,” he said.

The first corpsman pressed an auto-injector against David’s neck. It stung for a second, then reality receded into a fog.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, David was aware of being placed on the stretcher and felt himself being carried down the passageway. “My team,” he said, his voice distant and words slurred.

“Munford’s going to be fine, Corporal. Lie back and enjoy the ride,” one of the corpsmen said.

Unconsciousness finally took him, followed by nightmares of being shot over and over again.

2

Thanks to Terran Coalition medical technology, physical wounds healed far faster than mental ones. Standing in the lobby outside the counselor’s door, David felt a sense of trepidation. I really don’t want to do this. But the sooner I get it done, the sooner I get back to my duties and finish my time. Then I can go home and never have to kill again.

After the battle, the Artemis had been rotated back to a military space station for repairs and replacement crew members. On light duty during his recovery from his physical wounds, David had been ordered to see a counselor—which was the only reason he’d come.

Next to the door was a button with a sign over it that read “Please Press to Enter and Be Mindful of Others.” Under that sign was a nameplate marked Dr. Amy Ellison.

He hesitated for several moments, debating just walking away. Finally, he pushed the button.

The door opened, and a petite woman in her midthirties with, short, straight, natural blonde hair motioned David in. “Come in, Corporal Cohen,” the woman said in a bright and cheery voice.

Oh great. It had to be someone bubbly and happy. David forced a smile. After making his way into the small office, he sat down on a couch with a pillow that proclaimed Prayer is the Answer!

“I’m Dr. Amy Ellison. How are you doing today, Corporal?” she asked.

“I’m… okay, Counselor.”

“I’m not in the CDF, Corporal Cohen. There’s no need to be formal here. Please, call me Amy.”

“Yes, ma’am… Amy.”

“It’s been challenging to get you down here to talk to me,” she said, giving an easy grin.

“I… haven’t wanted to talk about what happened.”

“Why not?”

David looked down. A voice inside his head screamed at him, Because you killed eight people!

“May I call you David?”

He met her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Amy leaned forward in her chair. “I see soldiers all day long that have been through a trauma such as you have. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, from what I’ve read in the after-action report, the commanding officer of your ship thinks you were directly responsible for preventing the League from gaining control of the Artemis.”

“I killed… I don’t know, at least eight people. Maybe more. I shot one in the head with a pulse pistol and watched the beam slice through his brain.”

“Eight people that were trying to kill you and the two crew members who were with you.”

“I look down at my hands now and see blood. I wanted to be a rabbi. I wanted to help people. How can I do that now? How can I do anything? I violated one of the Ten Commandments.”

Amy sat back, thoughtful. “Why do you want to become a rabbi, David?”

“To minister to people. To help them learn. The word rabbi means teacher, after all. I wanted to do good.”

“I think there’s more to it than that. I think you want to make up for something.”

Wow. She’s good. “What do you mean?”

“Where were you on September twenty-eight, 2433?”

That day was one of those that if you were alive during it and able to remember, you never forgot. It was the date that the League of Sol, a supernational entity that controlled Earth and many colony planets, had invaded the Terran Coalition.

That was also the day my father left for the last time. David’s heart sank at the memory.

“I was at home with my mother and father,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Ellison pressed.

That fateful day would forever be burned into his mind. “I was eight. My father was on terminal leave from the CDF. He was a reservist with twenty years in service and had spent the previous two years on active duty to top off his retirement earnings. He loved us. He’d do anything to protect us. He was a good man.”

As he spoke to her, David’s mind wandered back to the night his father, Levi Cohen, had died. In his childhood, David knew that his father was an officer. Later, he came to understand that he was a major in the Coalition Defense Force. David’s mother, Sarah, was a homemaker and a traditional Jewish wife. They lived in an Orthodox enclave on Canaan, where his father was stationed at the main Canaan space dock. Every morning, the family rose together at five a.m. His father went off to work, and his mother dropped off David at school. In the afternoon, she picked him up after he’d finished with his after-school activities.

That night, raised voices coming from his parents’ bedroom was the first indication that something was amiss in the Cohen household. David recalled creeping down the hall to listen in on the conversation.

“Sarah… I’ve got to do this. I’ll come home as soon as I can.” his father said.

“I’m scared, Levi. I’m scared you won’t come home this time. What if it’s an invasion?” his mother asked through sobs.

“Then we’ll hold the line. I’m not going out alone. That’s for certain. Let me finish getting dressed, and you go get David. I want to tell him goodbye before I leave.”

“The party tomorrow was going to be perfect.”

“Just postpone it a few hours, okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah replied, her voice level once more.

David took the cue to run back into his room and busied himself with his tablet, which contained learning games and a GalNet link.

His mother came into the room, wiping her eyes. “David, come say goodbye to your father. He has to go to work.”

David put down his tablet and peered at her, confused. “But I thought Dad was on leave for the next few weeks.”

Sarah shook her head. “He’s been recalled, so he’s got to go in. I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to him being here for your birthday.”

David followed his mother into the bedroom, where his father fussed with the rank pin on his collar.

Sarah laughed softly then walked over to Levi and adjusted the pin.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“You can never seem to get that pin right, for all the trouble it caused you to earn it,” his mother said with a hint of a smile.

David’s father motioned for him to come over. “Son, I’m sorry. I have to take command of a ship for the next few days.”

Baffled, David sat down on the bed. “You’re retired, though. Why are they calling you now?”

Levi gave Sarah’s hand a squeeze then sat down next to David and pulled him into his lap. “Because I’m not quite out of the military yet. I’m still under orders, son, so I’ll go where I’m told and do what I need to do.”

David gazed into his father’s eyes. “Why you, Dad? Aren’t there others they can call instead?”

Levi paused for a moment. “I swore an oath, son. Sure, there’re others, but they called on me, so I must go. David, listen to me. I know you’re young, and I know this is hard to understand.”

David’s eyes filled with tears as he thought about his father going away yet again. It seemed like he never saw him anymore.

“Son, there are some things, like our freedoms, the right to say what we want, do what we want, worship God in the way that we want… Those are all things we’ve had to fight for and must continue to fight for.”

David began to cry. “Dad, are you going to die?”

Sarah inhaled sharply.

Levi smiled and patted his head. “No, son.” He turned to Sarah. “Why don’t we take our picture for the album?”

David didn’t realize why then, but every time his father went out on deployment, they took a family picture. Little did he know it was so that they would always have something to remember him by in case he didn’t make it home.

After taking the picture, Sarah and David followed Levi to the front door.

Levi set his space bag down by the door and turned to hug David. “Take care of your mother, son. You’re the big man of the house while I’m gone.”

Levi stood and turned to kiss Sarah. “I love you. I’ll see you all very soon,” he said then turned to walk down the drive, giving David one last look.

“Godspeed, Levi,” Sarah said as Levi walked toward his helicar.

Watching his father walk down the driveway filled David with both pride and overwhelming sadness.

David took off running as his father got to his car. “Dad! Dad!” he shouted.

Levi turned around, and David stood tall, holding his hand to his brow in the best imitation of his father’s salutes as he could. His father’s face broke into a grin, and he brought his hand to his brow in a crisp, practiced motion. Snapping his hand down, Levi turned away and climbed into his helicar. Moments later, it took off into the night. David stood in the path, looking up at the sky.

David eventually went back inside and found his mother, who tried to act normal and go about getting ready for the next day.

“Mom, is Dad going to be okay?” he asked as he plopped down on the couch next to her.

“Of course he is. Your father is as stubborn as you are,” Sarah said, playfully tousling his hair. “Now, you have school tomorrow, young man. Go brush your teeth and say your prayers, and let’s get ready for bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” David slid off the couch and went to the bathroom to do as his mother instructed.

After brushing his teeth, David stood beside his bed and said his bedtime prayers in Hebrew, as he’d been taught. “Lie us down, Adonai our God, in peace; and raise us up again, our Ruler in life. Shield us; remove from us every enemy pestilence, sword, famine, and sorrow. Remove all adversaries from before us and from behind us, and shelter us in the shadow of Your wings. For You are our guarding and saving God, a gracious and compassionate God and King. Guard our going out and our coming in for life and peace, now and always. God, please protect my father. Please guard him. Please bring him home safely.” With tears running down his face, he climbed into bed, then he quickly fell fast asleep.

David was jerked out of sleep to the sound of sirens wailing. He glanced at the clock next to his bed, which read four a.m.

“Mom!” he screamed as he crawled out of bed to run to his parents’ room. “Mom! What’s going on?”

His mother sat on the side of the bed as she rubbed her eyes to wake up. “Calm down, little man. Let’s go turn on the holonet and see if there’s any news, okay?”

David, even though a young child, still recognized when his parents were worried. His mother tried hard not to show it, as every good parent did, but her hands trembled, her face was tight, and her voice was high-pitched.

“Yes, Mother.”

David obediently followed her to the living room, and she turned on the holonet projector and changed the address to Canaan News Network. The set of the news program filled half the living room, as if they were there in the studio, watching the announcers.

“And we’re going to go live to President Nolan, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. Jason Nolan was the President of the Terran Coalition, the supernational government of their republic.

The holoprojector switched to show the interior of an office, in which President Nolan was seated behind a desk. “Citizens of the Terran Coalition,” he said, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

David remembered vividly how scared the man looked. He’d never seen it before.

“This morning, we were attacked by an enemy that had been long since forgotten. Earth and the World Society have returned. We believe they’re calling themselves the League of Sol, and over a thousand starships from the League’s military have attacked our capital. Those of you on Canaan have been warned by the emergency warning system reserved for major natural disasters, and I urge all citizens to remain in your homes. Do not go outside. Do not get into your helicars. If you are a member of the Canaan militia, report to your muster station. Otherwise, stay inside. I know that citizens around the Terran Coalition and her member planets have many questions and that fear is gripping us all as I speak.”

David had learned in school that humans escaped from Earth after losing a war against nations who called themselves the World Society and wanted to stamp out religious belief while instituting a communist system of government in the late twenty-first century. Over a hundred years after the initial refugees found the world of Canaan and established it, humans from that settlement began to spread out.

Nolan paused for a moment and took a drink of water. “But rest assured that the Coalition Defense Force is prepared and ready to meet any threat. As we speak, they are holding the line against the League’s attack while reinforcements from all nation-state militaries are proceeding at best possible speed to Canaan. As soon as we’re able, we will brief the press on the exact events, but as this battle is currently being waged, I cannot go into more detail. At this point, I would like to ask everyone on Canaan and in the Terran Coalition to pray for the safety our service members fighting the League, for victory against them, and for God to protect the Terran Coalition in this dire hour.”

Three hundred years after the landfall on Canaan, there were dozens of human-controlled planets within the Terran Coalition. Each planet had its own government, constitution, military, and cultural customs. An overarching constitution and government handled external matters and policed disputes between the planets that made up the Terran Coalition. David’s family was from the planet of New Israel. Since Levi was stationed on Canaan, however, his family lived planet-side with him.

David looked at his mother, who watched with rapt attention, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

“Our republic has overcome much in its history. We will not fall now, and we will not surrender. Regardless of what happens today, we will fight on. For now, may God bless you, and may God continue to bless the Terran Coalition.”

* * *

“The crazy thing is I can repeat that speech Nolan gave, almost verbatim. It was so seared into my mind,” David said. “We sat there for an hour, watching the holoprojector, until my mother made me do my schoolwork.”

“I was nineteen and in college the day it happened,” Amy said. “I’ll never forget sitting around the holo with a bunch of classmates, shaking with fear, crying, and trying to reach our parents. It took weeks for life to return to any kind of normalcy.”

“I’m not sure our lives ever really returned to normal.”

“Why?”

“It started when they came to tell us Dad had died.”

* * *

David thought back to how they had watched another news broadcast that announced the Terran Coalition’s victory over the League forces. After it had finished, he asked with tears welling in his eyes, “But what about Dad?”

Sarah held him in her arms. “He’s going to be fine, David. Let’s pray for him, then we’ll fix lunch together, okay?”

David nodded and hugged his mother back. “Okay, Mom.”

The two of them made lunch, and the holonet projector remained off.

As they sat down at the table to eat, a chime sounded throughout the house, and a computerized voice announced, “You have a visitor at the front entryway.”

Sarah glanced at the door with hesitation. “Stay here, David,” she said and walked into the foyer to open the front door.

Disobeying, David trailed behind her and watched with bated breath as she opened the door. Standing in the entryway were two CDF soldiers wearing what David recognized as dress uniforms.

As soon as Sarah opened the door and processed what was happening, she screamed, “No! No! No! No!” and fell into a chair.

David rushed to her, not sure what was going on. Sarah grabbed David and pulled him to her, trying to cover his ears so that he couldn’t hear them.

“Mrs. Cohen, I regret to inform you that your husband, Major Levi Cohen, was killed in action,” the soldier on the right said. As he spoke, his voice broke, and tears rolled down his face.

The other soldier, who had the payes, or curled sidelocks of a rabbi, had tears in his eyes as well.

“No.” Finally, she looked up. “How?”

“The ship your husband commanded was destroyed in combat, ma’am,” the soldier on the right said. “May we come in?”

Sarah nodded and stood to close the door behind them. The two soldiers joined Sarah in the living room after she sent David to his room, though he stayed in the hall to listen. For the next few minutes, the soldiers attempted to console her with little success. Unable to give her the information she so desperately wanted, the two eventually departed after the rabbi prayed with them.

That afternoon, Sarah made several holocalls once she could compose herself. Friends of the family began to arrive along with the rabbi of the synagogue their family attended. As there was no body, they could have no funeral service, per Jewish law.

The next morning, David helped his mother prepare for shiva, the traditional Jewish mourning period of seven days. He couldn’t quite understand why his dad wasn’t coming home. At night, he cried out to God, asking Him why his father couldn’t have been spared. When news reports had started to name Levi, Sarah always turned them off, but David had gone online and found that his father’s ship had rammed the League flagship leading the invasion. It was even harder for him to accept the idea that his father had chosen to leave them.

A few days into the shiva period, a visitor that David didn’t recognize came. He was a tall, striking CDF soldier who radiated pride in his dress uniform. As he entered the home and introduced himself to David’s mother, David observed that he wore the flag of the Saudi Arabian state on his uniform.

“Mrs. Cohen,” the man said in a deep baritone, “allow me to introduce myself. I am First Lieutenant Issa El-Amin. I served with your husband during the battle of Canaan aboard the CSV Salamis.”

Sarah teared up. “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Levi asked me to visit you and your son. He asked me to tell you how much he loved you both.” Sarah sobbed as El-Amin continued to speak. “I know my words are of little comfort, but he felt he had to do what he did to save you… to save us all.”

“What did he do?” David asked.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen a braver or more selfless act. He knew what would happen when he rammed that butcher’s ship, yet he still did it.”

David had cried so much that he didn’t have many more tears in him, but at the description of his father’s death, he and Sarah cried again.

“You should be proud of him. You will see him again in paradise, Inshallah,” El-Amin said with a traditional Arabic expression for “God willing.”

Sarah gripped Issa’s hands. “Thank you for coming to tell me this.”

El-Amin bowed his head. “It was my honor and privilege. Almashi mae Allah. Walk with God.”

After a few minutes, El-Amin took his leave of them. Sarah, David, and the rest of the family continued to sit shiva. After seven days, shiva ended. The friends that had come went back to their normal lives. David and his mother slowly began to continue. There was no normal. The pain didn’t disappear. Thirty days after Levi’s death, the rabbi held a memorial service. At Sarah’s insistence, it was not a major event, only a small gathering held at the family’s synagogue.

* * *

David looked back up at Amy with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over losing him. Throughout my childhood, all I ever heard was that my father was a hero and such an incredible man. I just wanted him back. I wanted to see him walk down our driveway and pick me up one more time. I wanted to watch my parents embrace one more time.” As he spoke, tears streamed down his face.

“David, you have some seriously unresolved trauma from your childhood. Would you consider working with me? We could have sessions remotely once you go back to the front.”

“I’m not sure it’s the right thing for me. I’m a man now. I need to act like it.”

“Please? There’s nothing wrong with having to deal with your emotions. It will help you in the long run. I promise.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Our time is up for today, but I will put an appointment on your schedule for next week.”

David quickly stood. He wanted to get out of the office and away from the counselor as fast as he could. I hate thinking about all the pain. Better to just bury it and move on.

“Thank you, Amy,” he said with a forced smile.

“Of course, David. I hope I’m able to help in some way.”

David nodded. “Good day,” he said and walked out of the office.

3

A week later, repairs on the Artemis were finally completed, and the ship was back underway. In the three weeks she had been away from her carrier battle group, the fighting in her patrol sector had died down, leaving David with time to deal with his thoughts. More than once, he woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, hitting his head on the rack above him. He experienced the battle over and over in his mind, reliving killing the League soldiers and the death of Beckett. As the nightmares got to David more and more, he decided he would go to the session Amy had set up.

I should just be able to move on, David thought. I am so ashamed of myself.

A couple of days later, David sat down at the small desk in the cramped room he’d secured and reluctantly engaged the vidlink. Amy’s smiling face appeared on his tablet.

“David, how are you today?”

“I’m okay, Counselor.”

“David, this is not a formal setting.”

“I apologize. I’m used to having to address everyone formally,” David replied as he cracked a small smile.

“I’m glad you decided to continue our discussion. I want to help you get through the trauma you’ve experienced.”

I will be fine. I don’t need help. “Where do we start?” he asked, working to ignore his thoughts.

“Last time we spoke, you told me about your father’s passing. What happened after that? How did you deal with the pain?”

“After we had the memorial service for my father— as there was no body, we couldn’t have a funeral, under Jewish law— I tried to bury my emotions. In time, the pain faded. I put my focus into my studies at the Hebrew school I attended.”

“I’m sure you received a lot of unwanted attention after what happened.”

“I heard hundreds, thousands of times what a hero my father was. My classmates revered me. I wanted nothing to do with it.”

“Why not?”

David paused, trying to force his innermost thoughts out. “I just wanted my dad back. I wanted a normal life with my family. Instead, we have day-in, day-out, year-in, year-out war. For the last eleven years, I’ve watched it all play out. There were times it looked like the League was going to beat us, but we clawed our way back. Other times, it looked like we would win, but the League just kept coming. They blather on with propaganda about how they want to free us from our superstitions. I may be just nineteen, but I’m smart enough to know a pile of crap when I see it.”

“You sound very passionate about that, David. I don’t quite understand how you can feel so strongly, yet your file says you attempted to obtain a conscientious-objector deferment to the draft.”

“Amy…” He used her name to emphasize his point. “I have no objection to serving my country. It’s my duty. I just didn’t want to kill people. Do you have any idea how easy it was to kill those League soldiers? I squeezed the trigger on a weapon, and they fell over like bowling pins. It shouldn’t be that simple. It shouldn’t be easy. I just wanted to do my duty then follow my calling in life to become a rabbi.”

“You can still do that, David. You just have to forgive yourself. You did nothing wrong. You defended yourself and the two soldiers under your command.”

“Not well enough. Private Beckett is dead. On my watch. Under my command.”

“So you blame yourself for his death as well?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have tried to be a hero.”

“Major Pipes believes you saved his ship.”

“Good for him.”

Amy paused for a moment. “What do you want, David?”

“I want to be a man of peace. I want to try, in some small way, to make this universe a better place.”

“I might say that you made the universe a better place by saving Major Pipes’s ship.”

David closed his eyes briefly. “Then why do I wake up seeing those dead Leaguers in my dreams at night?”

“Because most of us aren’t equipped to handle killing our fellow humans in close quarters without it causing significant emotional trauma. And those it doesn’t affect tend to have some form of mental disorder that prevents them from being in touch with their feelings.”

David shook his head. “Right now, I almost wish I had one of those disorders.”

“Trust me. You don’t.” Amy smiled before asking her next question. “What about boot camp? What happened to you once you were denied the draft deferment?”

“I took the oath,” David said.

He remembered the day after his eighteenth birthday, when he’d attended the ceremony to take the CDF Oath of Service. He’d known for years that the draft was coming, as it was enacted when he was thirteen years old. And there he was, standing in line with dozens of other young men and women, patiently waiting for the sergeant-at-arms to start the ceremony.

* * *

“Good afternoon, recruits. We are gathered here today as you take your first steps to becoming young soldiers in the Coalition Defense Force. Each of you has passed your entry physical exam, been provided with a military occupation, and received your orders to basic training. Now raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

“I, David Cohen, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, and that I will obey the orders of the president of the Terran Coalition and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

With the oath behind him, David was a soldier. He spent one more night at home with his mother, who, with the pride of a military mother, threw a party to see him off, but David’s heart lacked that pride. As he’d just graduated from secondary school, he didn’t feel ready to go away for four years, but it was his duty to do so, as so many had fought before him.

After pulling up to the recruit training center for the CDF on Canaan the next day, David stepped onto a transport craft packed with sixty young men and women. Little was said among the recruits on the hours-long journey from the city to the military base as the young adults all waited with naïve eagerness for what would happen next. Early the following morning, the transport craft pulled into the docking bay.

A drill instructor, who didn’t seem fazed by the time of morning, stormed aboard in a crisply pressed uniform. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Move it! Get off my transport, ladies. Sleep time is over. Welcome to the CDF.”

David awkwardly stood and made his way forward with the rest of the teenagers, falling into their first formation as directed by the drill instructors. Once they were in formation and separated—men on one side and women on the other—a tall, burly drill instructor stood in front of the formations. The recruits stood at attention simply out of fear and awaited their next command, trying not to be last or too slow.

“Attention, recruits. Welcome to recruit training station Lancaster. This is where you will become trained soldiers of the CDF.”

The drill instructors paced between the ranks of recruits, looking for someone to flinch, to remove a hair from their face, or to scratch an itch. David stood as motionless as a mannequin, trying not to attract attention.

“Staff Sergeant! Did you tell this recruit he could yawn?” a drill instructor asked regarding the heavyset teenager standing next to David.

“Absolutely not!” the big man in front barked.

“Recruit, do you need a nap?” the drill instructor screamed at the scared recruit.

“Uh, no, sir!”

“Drop down and give me ten push-ups, recruit!”

The teenager fell to his knees but had trouble getting through the push-ups required. After five, he lay in the dirt.

“Oh, look here. Momma’s fat biscuit-eater is out of shape. Keep pushing, recruit!”

After a moment, the recruit finished the push-ups and was roughly returned to his place in line.

“As I was saying,” the drill instructor said, “when we tell you to, you will pick up your belongings, file off, starting with the front row, and go straight into the room to your right. Women, to the left. The drill instructor at the front of the room will provide you further instructions. File off.”

With that command, each recruit picked up their belongings and quickly followed the person to their right to complete processing. Everyone was fitted for camouflage fatigues, and as that occurred, their civilian clothes were packed in their bags, tagged, and gathered. Finally, heads were shaved, and they were organized into companies.

As David went through each section of processing, thoughts flooded through his mind. My father chose to do this. Did he know what he was in for?

It took several hours to get through all the processing stations. By the time David finished, he just wanted to go home. God, please help me get through this, he kept repeating. Finally, the recruits were reassembled, and David sat with one hundred sixty others, wearing poorly fitting fatigues and with his head shaved, listening to the senior drill instructor introduce himself.

“Sit up straight. Stop slouching. Act like soldiers!” a short, brutally imposing man with a name tag that read Salazar rasped. To David, it seemed like the man had been doing this his entire adult life.

“Sir, yes, sir!” the company responded in a completely noncohesive manner.

“My name is Staff Sergeant Marco Salazar. I am your senior drill instructor. My mission is to train you maggots to become soldiers in the Coalition Defense Force,” Salazar thundered. “A soldier in the Coalition Defense Force is a person who possesses the highest of virtue, obeys lawful orders, shows respect to his fellow soldiers and seniors, and strives to be the absolute best at anything he attempts. Spirit, discipline, and courage are at the core of everything he does.”

Salazar strolled around the bay as he spoke. “Each of you may earn the right to be called a soldier, and I will give everything of myself to train you, even after you give up on yourself. From now on, I will be with you every single day, everywhere you go, and I will instruct you on how to do everything that you need to learn to be a soldier in the Coalition Defense Force.”

Pausing for a moment, Salazar glared at them. “I have told you what I will do for you. Now I will tell you what I expect from you. No one will quit. You will give one hundred percent of yourselves at all times. You will obey all orders quickly and without hesitation. You will never give up. Do these things, and you may earn the title of Coalition Defense Force soldier. Now stand up!”

After jumping to his feet with the rest of the recruits, David marched in place, as he was instructed.

“Attention on deck! Right face! Forward march, recruits!”

With that, the recruits halted, turned to the right, and filed out of the bay with the drill instructors barking orders at them.

* * *

As David finished relating the memory to Amy, she looked genuinely sympathetic. “I was too old to be called up when the draft was instituted, David. I don’t have a frame of reference for it.”

“Boot camp itself wasn’t that bad. It was what happened when the drill instructors found out who my father was. I was an easy target.”

“How did you cope with that?”

“By trying to stay off their radar as much as I could.”

“Could you tell me about it?”

David thought back to his first drill formation, when he’d stood at attention outside the recruit barracks.

* * *

“And why did you join the Coalition Defense Force?” Salazar asked David in his raspy voice.

“I was drafted, sir!”

“You were drafted? You didn’t volunteer? Do you not want to serve your country?”

“Sir, I do want to serve my country, sir!” David responded with confidence.

“Are you contradicting me, recruit?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“Are you confused, recruit? Because you did contradict me!”

A female recruit behind David snickered at his predicament.

Salazar immediately turned his attention to her. “Do you think I’m funny, recruit?”

“Sir, no, sir!” she shouted.

“Drop and give me twenty-five!”

The teenager dropped into position and counted off her twenty-five push-ups, laboring harder with each rep.

Once they were completed, the young recruit ran back into formation as Salazar returned his ire to David. “Now, do you want to serve your country?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” David shouted back.

“Do you think you’re special? Did your daddy fly his ship into the side of a League battleship or something?”

“Sir, I don’t think I’m special, but my father did fly his ship into the side of a League battleship, sir.”

Salazar stared at him for a second. “Well, no shit,” he said, momentarily taken off guard. “So you’re that David Cohen?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“You do think you’re special, then. Drop and give me fifty pushups, recruit!”

As David dropped to the ground to do the pushups, he saw the smirk on Salazar’s face. Oh great. Ten weeks of this guy busting my balls because of my father. That’s just awesome.

Fifty painful pushups later, Salazar ordered David to his feet. “I’ve got my eye on you, maggot. Back in line.”

Walking down the line of recruits, he stopped in front of another young woman. “And why are you here?”

“To, uh, figure out my life path, sir,” she got out nervously.

“Do I look like a life guide to you, recruit? Do I look like your mommy?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“Lucky for you, I am a life guide! I will lead. You will follow! You will do exactly as I instruct you at all times. Do you understand me, recruit?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“I don’t think you do. Drop down and give me twenty-five pushups!”

Walking back around to the front of the line, Salazar continued his monologue. “Now give me a battle cry!”

The body of recruits yelled a cry that was mostly ineffectual.

“That was pathetic!” Salazar barked. “Sergeants! Give them a proper demonstration of a CDF battle cry.”

The two drill instructors picked an unlucky recruit to scream at in both ears. “Waaagh!” they shouted.

“Now try it again, recruits!” Salazar said.

The recruits screamed much louder than the last time but nowhere near what the two drill instructors had managed.

“It’s still pathetic! You wouldn’t scare a small dog with that noise. Never mind. I’ll fix that in the next ten weeks, and I will turn you filthy civilians into lean, mean fighting machines. Now fall in. We’re going for a run, ladies.”

* * *

Amy laughed as David finished retelling the story of his first drill formation. “Your drill instructor sounds like…well, a colorful character, David.”

David laughed with her. “The truth is even though at first I couldn’t stand him, by the end of the ten weeks, I had grown to respect Staff Sergeant Salazar greatly. In fact, I doubt I’d be alive today if I hadn’t been given the training I received at his direction.”

“I’m glad the experience ended up being positive for you, then.”

“Me too.”

“I’m afraid we’re almost out of time.”

“Communications credits do come at a premium these days,” David said. “Thank you. Just talking about all this does make it somewhat better.”

“Good. Let’s do it again soon, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Amy,” she reminded him with a smile.

“Yes, Amy.”

“God bless, and Godspeed, David.”

“Godspeed.”

4

The following week, David was cleared to return to full duty. His presence had been requested by the commanding officer of the Artemis, Major Pipes. David had been told he was up for a commendation for his performance during the boarding action, but he didn’t want the recognition. He knocked on the rim of the CO’s hatch, as it was open.

“Come in, Corporal,” Pipes boomed.

David walked into the office and braced to attention. “Corporal David Cohen, reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Corporal. Take a seat.”

Across from the major, David sat ramrod straight in the nearest chair and locked his eyes forward. Retreating to what he had learned in boot camp seemed to provide some comfort.

“Corporal, I wanted to speak with you earlier, but I was asked to wait awhile until you were cleared by the counselor. How’re you doing?”

David furrowed his brow. That was a loaded question, but he sensed Major Pipes had genuine concern for his well-being. “I’m… okay, sir.”

“Killing someone, even the enemy, isn’t an easy thing, son,” Pipes said with concern.

“No, sir, it’s not. I never wanted to kill another person. I just wanted to do my duty for four years then continue my religious studies.”

“Ah yes.” Pipes nodded to the flag of New Israel on David’s uniform shoulder. “Orthodox, yes?”

David nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Corporal, I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to find out what your father did for the Terran Coalition. I understand you feel the best path for you is to be a rabbi, but I’d like you to consider the possibility of a different calling in life.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“You have clear command ability, son. Even though you lack advanced training in small-arms combat, your first instinct was to rush to the sound of the guns. Furthermore, once there, you made the right calls throughout the engagement.”

David looked away. “With respect, sir, I had no business trying to fight off a League boarding party. I don’t know what was going through my head. I don’t know why I made the choices I did. I guessed, and my guesses cost a good man his life. He’ll never go home. He was under my command. It was my job to keep him safe.”

Pipes leaned forward. “Corporal, I can see all over your face that you blame yourself for what happened. You can’t do that. The League is the reason Private Beckett is dead. Let me tell you something. If you really guessed your way through that engagement, then I’m even more impressed, because you innately made the right calls.”

David forced himself to look back at Pipes. “Thank you, sir, but I’m struggling to make peace with the fact that I killed a bunch of people. It shouldn’t be so easy to do that. It’s not right.”

Pipes stood and walked around his desk to sit down next to David. “No, it’s not right. But it’s something that soldiers like us have to deal with. It follows us around, and it’s a constant companion.”

“How do you make peace with it, sir?”

“You don’t, and if you ever become okay with killing someone else, then something very wrong has happened to you. It’s supposed to hurt. But if we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us. And after they do, they’ll kill our wives, our mothers, our families, and our children. So we stand on the line and ensure it doesn’t happen.”

Pipes put his hand on David’s shoulder. “Son, you’ve got a gift to command. You’re good at this, better than many others I’ve seen in my career. If you’d like, I’ll sponsor you for officers’ candidate school. We need more people like you out here, or we won’t win this war.”

David shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I have no desire to be an officer or to continue in the CDF after I have completed my required service.”

Pipes nodded, frowning. “I understand, son. If that should change, I’d be glad to recommend you at any time. I have something else for you.” He paused, stood, and retrieved a case from his desk. “Please stand, Corporal.” Once David had stood, he snapped the medal case open and turned it around. “I am pleased to award you the Bronze Star with the V device for your actions in defense of this ship.” After closing the case, he handed it to David. “We’ll hold a formal ceremony later, but I wanted you to have this.”

“Thank you, sir,” David said, unable to say anything else.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me, Corporal,” Pipes said, his easy smile returned.

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on, Corporal.”

David stood quickly and braced to attention. “Yes, sir.”

Taking his time walking back to his bunk, David wrestled with the CO’s offer. What if I am good at being a soldier? The possibility haunted him. He didn’t want to be good at killing people.

I know my calling is to be a rabbi, he pondered, staring at the top of his bunk. What if Major Pipes is right?

David turned over and tried to go sleep but found no rest.

* * *

The next few months passed quickly for David aboard the Artemis. He’d returned to his duties and split time between damage control and backup helm operator. Focusing on his responsibilities and with a couple more sessions with Amy, he was able to work through the emotional toll of his first combat encounter. Over time, the nightmares faded, and he returned to some level of normalcy. The conversation he’d had with Major Pipes, however, refused to leave his mind. He lay awake many nights, thinking over his choices in life.

The ship’s klaxon blared, jerking David out of his thoughts.

“Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. General quarters. General quarters. All hands, man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship,” Major Pipes said through the ship’s intercom.

David jumped out of his bunk then made his way to his assigned damage-control station, where Rachel Munford was already waiting for him.

“Ready to go?” David asked as he pulled the fireproof hood of his suit over his head.

Munford nodded. “Yes, Corporal. Ready to go.” Munford’s wounds had healed, though David knew she was still greatly affected by Beckett’s death, even more so than he was.

The first few minutes of the engagement passed with nothing more than some shocks and rumbles. Both David and Munford were knocked off their feet when the ship took a major hit. The intercom on David’s personal communicator chimed.

“This is the bridge. We need damage-control teams and medical staff immediately,” someone David didn’t recognize shouted.

“We’re only one deck down. Let’s get up there and try to help.”

She nodded. “Aye, aye, Corporal.”

They made their way to the bridge as fast as possible. The two sentries that normally stood watch were trying to open the hatch, but it was stuck. Using their specialized tools, David and Munford pried the doors open and stepped through.

Before David was a perfect storm of destruction. The XO’s chair had a beam lying across it, pinning the woman in it to the seat. Several stations were destroyed, and a fire crackled in one of the substation control units. He surveyed the situation methodically, as he had done many times. “Munford, help me get this beam off her,” he said, rushing to the XO.

Grunting, they lifted the beam off the chair, revealing the trauma sustained by the collapse. David knelt, feeling for a pulse, but they were too late. Looking at Munford, he shook his head.

When he performed the same duty on Major Pipes, he was relieved to find that while the major had been knocked unconscious, his pulse was strong and steady.

David put his commlink to his mouth. “This is Corporal Cohen on the bridge. We still need medical personnel immediately and additional damage-control teams. All bridge officers are incapacitated. We need someone to come take command here.”

A cry for help came from the navigation and helm station. The ship’s navigator, Second Lieutenant Naomi Caldwell, a woman he had met several times before, struggled to stand with a piece of shrapnel lodged in her chest.

“Lieutenant, hold still,” David said.

As David knelt beside her, Caldwell grabbed his arm. “Corporal, you have to get the ship to safety,” she said in her slight Afro-Caribbean accent as she gasped for air.

“Let me help you.” David frantically scanned the room for the emergency medical kit panel.

“No! Forget me. Save this ship, or we’ll all be dead,” she said as loudly and as clearly as she could. Another round of weapon impacts underlined her point.

“What do I do?” David asked in panic, caught between wanting to run away and doing his duty. He didn’t want to see yet another person die. He wasn’t sure he could handle that again.

“The Lawrence drive is charged. You have to enter the coordinates and engage.”

“Where should we go?”

“Anywhere but here, Corporal,” Caldwell said.

David cleared the debris away from the navigation console and stared at it. He had basic training in how to use the helm and navigation consoles but had never actually executed a Lawrence drive jump. He picked a space station near their location that he hoped would have medical and engineering personnel and entered the coordinates into the navigation system. When the drive was ready a few seconds later, he engaged it. Through the windows at the front of the bridge, he watched in fasciation as the multicolored maw of the artificial wormhole opened. While he’d seen them before in books and videos, something was different about experiencing it in person, a few kilometers away. Even in the middle of all this death and destruction, the beauty of God’s creation is all around us. The frigate rocketed forward, speeding through the tunnel between points in space, and thanks to his lack of piloting skills, the ride was extremely rough.

Caldwell’s breaths became more labored as the ship exited the wormhole. “Are we safe, Corporal?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Let me get help.”

As David turned, her eyes closed, and her breathing slowly came to a stop. David sprang up and rushed to the panel of emergency supplies, fumbling to get it open as the medical personnel rushed into the bridge.

“The navigator is down. She needs medical treatment now!”

One of the medical technicians knelt beside Caldwell, feeling for her pulse, and examined the hole in her chest. He used a portable defibrillation wand on her without effect. After a few more minutes of trying to revive her, he looked up. “I’m sorry, but she’s gone. There’s no coming back from that kind of a wound, Corporal.”

As the technician turned away to treat another member of the bridge crew who was still alive, David’s knees went wobbly. He sat down on the chair next to the navigator’s body.

I’ve got to keep it together. He stared down at her lifeless form. For the second time in six months, David said the traditional prayer for the dead. Quietly and in Hebrew, he recited it from memory. “God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heavens’ heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of Your Angels, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest.”

Munford came up behind David and whispered, “Corporal, are you okay?”

Snapped out of his thoughts, he looked up at her in anguish. “No. But we have a job to do.” He stood and forced one foot in front of the other. “Let’s get back to it.”

5

That night, David took what was known as a Hollywood shower by those in the CDF. The term traced back hundreds of years. To where, David wasn’t quite sure. It referred to taking a long shower while in space, as opposed to a space shower, in which you turned the water on for thirty seconds, turned it off, lathered up, and finally turned it back on again to rinse. His bunk was empty because the rest of the men assigned to that berthing compartment were absent, finally giving him time to think. The idea of being a part of something larger than him embodied the motto of the CDF, which was Semper Paratus or Always Ready. If he was being honest with himself, it appealed to him.

Lying in his bunk, he pondered his feelings for hours on end. What do I owe the Terran Coalition? Do I owe it anything? Does everyone have a duty to stand up for the freedoms we’ve received and fight against evil?

Finding no solace, he decided to place a real-time comm call to a friend from boot camp, Sheila Thompson. It would cost his entire comm time ration for the next three months, but he had to talk to someone, and his mother wasn’t the right person to have the conversation with. As he reached for his tablet, he thought back to boot camp, where he’d met Sheila three days into the ten-week ordeal.

* * *

David was in the middle of doing his laundry when a girl walked up to him as she washed her clothes. He’d seen her a few times but hadn’t spoken to her.

“David Cohen, right?” she asked.

David stared at her. “Who’s asking?”

“Look, I’ve seen you getting yelled at and PTed a lot the last few days. I thought you might want some advice.”

David relaxed just a tad. “Well, I’m tired of being yelled at. What’s your advice?”

“The first thing is… lose the chip on your shoulder. It’s big enough that you’re visibly weighed down by it.”

David’s shoulders went forward, and he snarled. “What are you talking about?”

“See? That. You’re proving my point. I get it. Your dad was a hero. You probably hate being reminded of it. But you can’t show it. Right now, you do just enough to stay on the drill instructor’s radar, and he’s going to pound you into the ground until you quit pissing him off. There are plenty of people here who are going to screw up far worse than you. Let them do it and lie low.”

The girl’s words made sense to David. “How do you know all this? Is your dad a big shot in the CDF?”

“My parents are lawyers. They don’t even want me here.”

David raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. What’s your name?”

“Sheila. Sheila Thompson.”

David extended his hand. “David Cohen. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Sheila said as she took her clothes out of the dryer and began to fold them. “You don’t seem to be very excited to be here.”

“I’m not. I want to be done with my enlistment and do my duty to the Terran Coalition, then I’m going to go off and become a rabbi.”

“A rabbi?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

“You know, a teacher. A clergyman. Like a pastor for Christians or an imam for Muslims.”

“I know what a rabbi is. I didn’t grow up under a rock. I don’t understand why you’d want to be one.”

“Because I’ve no desire to kill people, Sheila. I’d rather try to teach them to be better.”

“Sometimes evil has to be opposed. When we’re up against a group as evil as the League, the only way to do that is by force of arms,” she said with conviction.

“I get that, but that person isn’t me. I’m going to do my duty. I owe the Terran Coalition a four-year stint. After it’s done, I’m out. What about you?”

“I’m making a career out of it.”

“Why?” David asked.

“I might change my mind later, I suppose, but it’s what I feel I need to do with my life. My parents want me to go to law school, but I’m completely uninterested in doing that.”

“You could be in the military and be a lawyer. That’s what the JAG Corps is, right?”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “I’m not joining the military to be a lawyer. I want to be on the sharp tip of the spear. I tried out for the flight academy, but I didn’t score high enough on CVAB. I only got seventy-fifth percentile.”

“Only.”

Sheila laughed. “You’re not half bad once you crawl out of that shell, Mr. Cohen.”

David smirked. “Do I look like an officer to you?”

“No, but I will be in a couple of years,” Sheila said with a grin.

“How’s that?”

“I already have my degree. I did most of it in high school and finished up the last year while on draft deferment. I want to serve as an enlisted soldier for two years then go to officers’ candidate school. Eventually, I want to command a starship.”

“I’d say you have it all planned out.”

“I think I do. But I doubt my plans will survive first contact with life.”

“So do you just sit around reading books about the military? Because I recognized that one. Some general once said that ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy.’”

Sheila rolled her eyes again. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve read many books about the military.”

“It shows. We’d better get these clothes finished before the DIs come back in here and make us do push-ups again.”

“Look who’s suddenly being responsible and not trying to annoy the drill instructors.”

“Hey, I know good advice when I hear it.”

* * *

David smiled at the memory as he pulled out his tablet and went to the vidlink function then keyed in Sheila’s name. Her icon showed active, much to his relief. He pressed the button to start a long-distance link, and a few seconds later, her face popped up.

“David, is that you?” she asked with a huge smile on her face.

“David Cohen, the man, the myth, the moron… at your service.”

“I told you to quit making fun of yourself.”

“Old habits die hard. Besides, if I make fun of myself, I’m less likely to be made fun of for my dad’s heroics or whatever it is I’m a target for this week. When I was first assigned to the Artemis, I got sent around the ship for two hours, looking for a cable stretcher.”

“A cable stretcher? It took you two hours to figure out that was a prank?” Sheila asked with an arched eyebrow.

His cheeks heated. “Well… for some reason, it made sense at the time.”

“If it makes you feel better, they got me with hydraulic blinker fluid.”

David laughed. “That’s great.”

“Watch it, Mr. Cohen.”

“I’m still not an officer.”

“Yeah, but somehow you got to Corporal before I did.”

David shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not sure why.”

“Might have something to do with you going all John Wayne and taking out half a League combat brigade.”

David gave her a hard look. “One… I was promoted before that. Two… I’m still not okay with killing those people.”

“I know. What’s on your mind?”

“We were in another battle today.”

“You wiped out another League combat brigade?”

David shook his head. “No. Our XO was killed in action. Along with the navigator. She died right next to me after helping me move the ship to safety. All she cared about was saving the rest of us… even with a metal bar going through her chest.”

Sheila frowned, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry, David. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s war. I get it. It’s not going to be the last time I see someone die when I’m posted to the front lines.” He paused for a moment, wrinkling his forehead. “I’m beginning to think that maybe Major Pipes was right.”

“You mean in asking you to go to OCS?”

“Yes.”

“Why? When we talked about it last, you were really adamant that you wanted out of the CDF.”

“I know. I’m… I wonder if maybe I’m just running away. It’s easy to run away. It’s not easy to stand up and fight. My father used to say that there are three types of people: sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. He’d say that sheep are the majority of people, good and moral, without a capability to commit violence. Wolves, though, have a thirst for violence and prey on the sheep. Sheepdogs, on the other hand, have the ability to commit violence but only do so to protect the sheep from the wolves. Dad… was a sheepdog. He ran toward danger and served for twenty years, and I don’t think he feared anyone or anything.”

“So now you’re feeling that it might make sense to stay in?”

“If Major Pipes is right, and I do have what he calls natural leadership ability... maybe there’s a way I can help win the war. If we win, that stops the killing. Right?”

“David, if you’re looking for absolution, I can’t give it to you. I can only tell you that I know a life of service in defense of my country is what I need to do, at least today and for the foreseeable future. You’re the only one who can decide whether it’s what you need to do.”

“Good advice, as always.”

Sheila smiled. “I ought to charge you for it.”

“We did promise to stay in touch… after spending boot camp looking out for each other. Especially the final exercise. That thing was brutal. Forced march throughout the night, live fire obstacle course… The League has nothing on our drill instructors.”

Sheila laughed. “Yeah, I’ll give you that. Hey, no matter what you decide, David, you’ve got nothing to prove. It’s your life. Your choice. Okay?”

David nodded. “I guess I’ve just got a big choice to make.”

“It sounds like you do.”

“Okay, I’m going to get off this thing before I burn up an entire year’s worth of communications credits.”

“Take care, David. Be safe. Shalom.”

David cracked a smile. “Shalom.” With the press of a button, her face disappeared.

David put the tablet away and stared at the top of his bunk, repeatedly running through the decision he faced. I’ve got to do this. I don’t know exactly why, but I can’t turn away from it. He pulled out his personal pad and brought up the mail application. Quickly composing a message to the acting XO, he requested a follow-up meeting with Major Pipes. Then he turned over and went to sleep, finally finding rest.

* * *

The next day, David went about his normal duties, and as the hours crept by, he wondered if he’d blown his chance with Major Pipes. Perhaps he had closed that door when he rejected him the first time, but as the end of the day neared, he was in the middle of his daily rounds, checking on work orders, when his personal communicator buzzed. He opened it to find a message from Major Pipes, ordering him to the CO’s office posthaste.

David raced back to his locker and deposited his tools inside. He walked to the gravlift and took it to deck one, which housed Major Pipes’s office and day cabin. When he knocked on the closed hatch, he heard Pipes’s distinctive voice.

“Come.”

After opening the hatch and walking in, David brought himself to attention in front of the major’s desk. “Corporal David Cohen reports as ordered, sir.”

“Corporal, I was surprised you asked to see me after our last conversation.”

“Sir, I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few weeks about what you said the last time we spoke.”

Pipes stared at him for a few moments. “Have a seat, Corporal.” After David sat down, the major continued, “You seemed to make your feelings known the last time we sat together in my office. What changed?”

“Last week on the bridge, sir.”

Furrowing his brow, Major Pipes nodded. “What about it?”

“The navigator died in front of me, sir. Her only concern was the ship and getting it to safety. That had an impact on me. I know I’m young and have much to learn, but I also know to the very core of my being that the League of Sol is evil. I believe that evil must be opposed. I can’t run from that, and I can’t run from what I’m good at. You were right. I’m good at this in spite of my desire not to be.”

“Are you sure, Corporal? I don’t want you to do it for a year then get cold feet. If you’re going to make a commitment, you’ve got to stick with it.”

David nodded. “I understand, sir. I’m all in on this.”

Pipes let an uncomfortable silence fill the office.

“It’s not an easy life, David. At all. There are days when you will regret it and wish you had chosen a different path. Especially on the days you go to bed alone in your bunk with no one at home waiting for you.”

“Sir, I’ve spent a lot of time considering just that. Even though I don’t like to admit it, I get tunnel vision in combat. I act. I’m able to focus on the problem at hand and logically think it through, even with the chaos around me. It seems like that might be a useful trait to bring to combat.”

“It’s possibly the most useful trait, to use your words, son. I knew you had it when I read the after-action report from the boarding.”

“I’m sorry I rejected your offer the first time, sir.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. This decision isn’t one to be made lightly.”

“Why’d you do it, sir?” David asked.

“I’d already joined the CDF prior to the Battle of Canaan. I thought it was going to be a place where I figured out what I wanted to do in life and gained some skills, and since I’d joined the reserve officers training cadre, they paid for my degree. Frankly, it seemed like a good deal at the time. After that dark day, I first wanted to get even. When that passed, I wanted to be sure it never happened again. So here I am, twelve years later. Promoted to major and commanding a frigate. If you apply yourself, David, you can do the same. I think you could go far in the CDF, but most importantly, you’ve got something to offer. Don’t get a big head, always learn new things, and stay focused.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Above all, never stop trying to bring your crew home. Aside from defeating the enemy, that is your most important charge.”

“Yes, sir,” David said again.

“I’ll put in your application and sponsor it. Once I get word back, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, Corporal, I’m sure you have duties to attend to. Dismissed.”

David stood, braced to attention, and departed his office, mind racing about what he’d gotten himself into.

6

CSV Audacious

Patrol Sector 62E—Terran Coalition / League of Sol Active Combat Zone

5 February 2460

Sixteen years later, David Cohen walked into his cabin on the CSV Audacious, a Thane-class escort carrier. He paused to strip off his rank insignia—that of a major—and ribbons before taking off his khaki uniform shirt. Two and a half years into my tour as the XO of this ship, and it seems like I’m just learning how to do the job well. He took a seat on the small couch that occupied most of the tiny living room space and pulled up his fleetlink to review his personal communications. Scanning quickly through the videos and text messages he’d received during the day, he noticed a note from his detailer, the person assigned to place him and other officers into positions they would hopefully excel at.

That’s the idea anyway. I’ve always found my postings to be a bit random. I’ve gotten some good assignments, though—XO on this carrier among the best so far. Remembering his first days on the carrier, David thought he was a good leader coming into the role. Being forced to find creative solutions to problems he’d never encountered before, he’d learned how to work through issues in a manner that allowed the crew to thrive and the ship to remain in tip-top shape.

After he pulled the note up, he had to read it twice for the full meaning to set in.

David,

How’s the Audacious treating you? Your recent FITREP was exceptional. It’s opened many doors for the next posting in your career. I’ve got a unique opening for you to consider. The CSV Yitzhak Rabin, one of those next-generation Ajax class destroyers, is in need of a CO. Her current CO is retiring after twenty years in service, and the previously selected CO is suddenly not available. So… your name is at the top of my list. What do you say? I realize it’s out of the blue, but I need an answer by 0800 CMT tomorrow morning.

– Ronald

David sat back on the couch, absorbing the request. The circle is now complete. Once I take command of this ship, I’ll have effectively traveled the same path my father did. Does that make me my father? The idea that someday he would command the same class of ship had occurred to him over the years, but to finally have it happen caused deep and latent feelings to roar to the surface. How far I’ve come from a ruddy-faced teenager to this. Dad would be proud.

Over the years, he’d been able to compartmentalize the emotional side of his mind and had seen counselors after each major engagement, as mandated by CDF medical personnel. Always making a conscious effort to internalize most of his feelings, he didn’t want to show what he perceived to be weakness. It led to a calm and focused exterior, but when the night was quiet and he lay in bed, he couldn’t stop seeing the faces of the people he’d been forced to kill in the discharge of his duties or those he couldn’t save. It was an ever-present reminder of the cost of war.

He cross-referenced the name of the ship, the CSV Yitzhak Rabin. An Ajax-class destroyer, she was one of the newest ships in the fleet. The Ajax class had been introduced three years ago to much fanfare. They packed the shield generators and weapons of a previous generation light cruiser and had performed exceptionally well against the League since their introduction. Rumors around the CDF said that the Matrinids, another friendly alien race in the local sector, had provided advanced shield technology, but David typically found RUMINT—the slang term for “rumor intelligence”— to be highly unreliable.

As he began to compose his reply to his detailer, he paused, considering the tremendous responsibility of starship command. Even his posting as the XO of the Audacious was not the same. On the Audacious, while he ran the various departments of the ship and kept it humming along, the CO made the final decisions. For just a moment, he thought, Do you really want to decide life and death for four hundred fifty people? Can you handle that? But he was sure and confident. I’ve got this. After seventeen years of preparation, I’m ready to lead. Ultimately, he believed he had a duty to fight the good fight, using every talent he had to defeat the evil that was the League of Sol.

David finished his reply, thanking the detailer and accepting the assignment. He’d known for a while he was on the command shortlist, but being offered command of a destroyer after one tour as an XO surprised him. Then again, the war wasn’t going that well. The joint chiefs were careful not to say it in public, and the military and government officials continued to play up the victories while downplaying the defeats. But everyone on the front lines knew they were being dragged kicking and screaming to the gallows by the League’s overwhelming superiority in numbers. The CDF still had a lot of fight in it, and they won more engagements than they lost... but it was only a matter of time.

David continued to hope that a new ally or new technology would help shift the tide of the war. The Terran Coalition had far superior shields, weapons, and propulsion technology, but it was only a generation or so better than the League’s. It needed to be three generations ahead to truly turn the tide, as superiority of that magnitude would render League ships virtually unable to target, damage, or destroy CDF vessels in meaningful numbers. Throughout the military, people had been talking about the Victory Project, a top-secret program to create a new ship class. Command probably let that leak to keep up civilian morale more than anything.

Setting those thoughts aside, David hit send on his reply then pulled up the crew roster for the Rabin. He immediately noticed that the XO’s position was unfilled. Well, well. I wonder. Sheila had been deep-selected by the promotion board for command as well. Maybe she’d be interested in serving with me again. David viewed her as a “fire and forget” missile. Whatever needed to be done, just give it to her, and she would make sure it happened. It would be good to see her again for more than just a quick lunch or dinner when travel plans happened to overlap every couple of years. He pulled up his mail application and started to compose a letter to her, a smile creeping onto his face.

Sheila,

I hope this note finds you well. It’s been a couple of weeks since I had time to write, but things have been so crazy. I was just offered command of an Ajax-class destroyer, the CSV Yitzhak Rabin. Are you sitting down? I hope so. The XO slot is open, and I know you’re the second officer of a guided missile cruiser, but the XO on the Rabin was reassigned on an emergency basis just a couple of weeks ago. My detailer asked me if I could recommend someone, and you were the first and only person that came to mind. Would you like me to send him your way?

– David

* * *

Captain Sheila Thompson walked into her stateroom aboard the CSV Stromboli, a Lepanto-class guided-missile cruiser, after pulling a double shift on the bridge, covering the first and second watch. Both the CO and the XO were down with nasty cases of the flu, and as the second watch officer, she had to pick up the slack. She was ready for a hot shower followed by a private dinner and a good night’s sleep before taking first shift again in the morning. As she ran the hot water for her bath, her tablet’s flashing alert light caught her attention.

Unable to push the device to later, Sheila left the water running and went back to her desk to check for messages. Running her pointer finger over the biometrics screen, she unlocked her tablet. An email marked High Importance from David caught her attention. Anxiety filled her as she clicked to open it. Part of her hated that he had that effect on her, but such had been the case for so long that she was getting used to it. They had always kept up with each other over the years, usually having dinner together every once in a great while when they were on ships laid up at the main Canaan drydocks at the same time. She paused briefly by her desk to read the email.

Her emotions ran away with her as she read the message a second time just to be sure of what it said. Her tour on the Stromboli was nearly up, and she’d been passed over for command, at least for the moment, so a different XO assignment or shore duty seemed likely. She wasn’t interested in a shore-duty assignment, and if she was going to be an XO, it would be much better to serve with someone she knew, respected, and cared for than deal with the unknown.

She hit the reply button and composed a response.

David,

I am so happy for you! After all this time, you finally beat me to a ship command. Of course, it’s got to be named after a famous Israeli. I think CDFPER finds amusement in these assignments. I don’t have anything lined up for my next billet, so I’d love to serve with you again. My detailer’s name is Lieutenant Hasan Darzi. I attached his fleet link profile to this message. See you soon!

– Sheila

Once she hit send, she wrote another message to her detailer, explaining the situation and that he’d be contacted shortly about the XO position on the Rabin.

What have I just gotten myself into? she wondered as she headed back for her long-awaited shower. Where will this lead? Will David and I be up to the task? Those were questions only time would answer.

* * *

David finished the last inspection of his full-dress uniform, pausing to consider the ceremony he was about to participate in. My first ship command. He wished his father could be there to see him.

As he walked out of his temporary quarters and made his way to the berth for the Yitzhak Rabin, David’s mind went back to the email containing his orders that he’d received from Coalition Defense Force Personnel just a few weeks prior. “Proceed to the Canaan Station, where the CSV Yitzhak Rabin is docked, and upon arrival, report to your immediate superior in command for duty as the commanding officer of CSV Yitzhak Rabin,” it instructed. He smiled as he read the orders for the first time and several times after, a sense of pride and excitement growing in him each time.

If someone had told David at the start of his career that he would command a destroyer, he would have laughed in their face. How interesting it was that he had become his father despite his vow for so long to be a man of peace and take a different path. While he could come up with several defining moments of his career, where he stood now was the result of a journey, and perhaps the journey was the point.

Sheila had taken over the position of executive officer the week prior and had gotten settled into her new digs on the Yitzhak Rabin. He didn’t know any of the other officers aboard, nor had he served with any of them. Given the CDF’s massive size of nearly one hundred million men and women under arms, that wasn’t unusual, but he had hoped to be acquainted with at least a few of the senior officers prior to their deployment.

Major Amina Najem, the outgoing commanding officer, met David at the gangway of the Rabin, standing in the airlock along with Sheila and a small honor guard. As David stepped onto the ship, the senior enlisted soldier trilled a bosun’s pipe, and the assembled company braced to attention.

David turned toward Major Najem. “Permission to come aboard, ma’am?”

Najem smiled. “Granted, Major Cohen.”

David glanced at the woman’s uniform. After sixteen years in the military, he could read a uniform like he was reading a book on a person’s life—from the campaign ribbons, to the national flag, if present, to medals or honors awarded. It was like an autobiography that only those who served in the brother and sisterhood of war could understand. Major Najem had been in the service for twenty years and was from New Arabia and a Muslim, according to the ribbons and flags on her uniform.

Custom dictated that the outgoing CO would take the incoming CO around the ship prior to change of command. “If it would be possible, Najem, I’d like to tour the ship prior to the change of command ceremony this afternoon,” he said.

Najem nodded a bit stiffly. “Of course, Major.” She turned to the honor guard. “Honor guard, at ease.”

The enlisted personnel shifted to parade rest.

For the next two hours, Najem escorted David through the Rabin, showing him the ship’s detailed status of completion and identifying any open issues. At only two years in space, the Rabin still practically has a new starship smell. There were no signs of mechanical issues, and the enlisted personnel were well drilled, appearing to perform like a well-oiled machine. In David’s eyes, that was a mark toward a competent commanding officer.

Near the end of the tour, he’d begun to relax with the major enough to joke about the ship’s name. “I must say, Major, it’s interesting that the first commanding officer of a ship named after a former Israeli prime minister from Earth is a Shi’ite Muslim.”

Najem peered at him for a moment before smiling. “When I took command, I researched who Yitzhak Rabin was. I found it mildly ironic and a reminder of how far we’ve come that I would be the first to take command of a ship named for him.”

“He gave his life for peace, and it wasn’t realized for another sixty years after he died. Today, I stand here, an Orthodox Jew, taking command of a ship named after him, from a Muslim.” David grinned. “That almost sounds like a joke about a Jew, a Christian, and a Muslim in the same boat.”

Najem laughed softly. “I wasn’t sure what you would be like, Major,” she admitted. “You are larger than life to some in the service, and to others, you’re a symbol to be hated.”

David looked down at his feet before raising his gaze again. “I’m just a man trying to do my job. No hero or devil here.”

“Ha, and modest too. Well, for what it’s worth from me, I think you’ll make a fine commander for this ship. Take care of my crew, Major. I’ve tried to make this ship the best destroyer in the fleet. I expect you to keep it that way,” she said in a friendly but direct tone.

“I’ll do my best,” David said in return, meaning every word. “I think it’s about time. Shall we proceed to the cargo bay?”

“Yes, it is. Follow me.”

The Rabin was much smaller than the escort carrier David had finished his last deployment on as the XO. They neared the main cargo bay of the destroyer. It had been completely cleared of all cargo, and numerous chairs had been set up for the company of the ship and guests. David’s mother had made the journey to see him take command, as had a number of his friends from previous postings who happened to be nearby. Several of Najem’s friends were in attendance, as well, as were her husband and two children. The occasion wasn’t simply a change of command but also her retirement after twenty years of service to the Terran Coalition.

David checked his wrist communicator. It showed ten minutes before the ceremony was to start at fifteen hundred hours. The proper protocol was for the executive officer—in this case, Sheila—to call the crew to muster. Right on time, the 1MC tone sounded.

“Now hear this. Now hear this,” Sheila’s voice echoed across the ship. “All hands, report to cargo bay one for command transfer and retirement ceremony. I say again, all hands report to cargo bay one for command transfer and retirement ceremony.”

Following Sheila’s announcement, the sixty or so members of the Rabin’s crew that weren’t already in the cargo bay entered to take their positions. Najem and David waited until the command master chief standing next to the entryway gave a nod to proceed.

At his signal, they walked into the cargo bay, Najem leading the way. While the Coalition Defense Force aboard ships retained many customs of the wet navies they descended from, one thing that had changed through the years was how a military hat, known as a cover, was worn on a ship. On the bridge, a cover was still worn, and in cargo bays used for a ceremony, the bay was considered outside, and therefore, a cover was worn. For that reason, both Najem and David put on and straightened their dress covers as they walked into the bay.

As Najem proceeded, David paused as an enlisted crew member rang the portable ship’s bell, which had been set up for the ceremony, twice, and the bosun trilled the formal piping of the CO into the bay.

The master chief announced, “CSV Yitzhak Rabin, arriving.”

Najem strode down the aisle to the platform that had been erected, saluting the officers and enlisted personnel that lined both sides of the aisle. After exchanging a final salute with Colonel Heppner, she stood to his right, and David entered the cargo bay. The same enlisted crew member rang the ship’s bell twice again, and the bosun trilled his pipe once more.

“Major, Coalition Defense Force, arriving,” the master chief announced.

Walking down the aisle, David raised his hand to his brow and saluted the ship’s company. The enormity of his assignment began to fully sink in. Nearly four hundred fifty crew souls were on the ship. Those lives rested in his hands. His job was to see them through the next three years and bring them home safe and sound to their families.

When David reached the platform, he climbed the steps and finally stood before Colonel Heppner. They saluted each other crisply as the colonel started the ceremony.

“As you were,” Heppner said, his voice carrying across the cargo bay.

Turning to the assembled crew, Heppner began, “Crew members of the Yitzhak Rabin, we come together today to salute your commanding officer, Major Amina Najem, for her service and dedication to the Terran Coalition and the Coalition Defense Force and to see her off into a retirement well-earned after twenty years of service. We also welcome a new commanding officer, Major David Cohen, who will lead you into battle for the next three years.”

As Heppner spoke, David’s mind came alive with thoughts of how the next three years would go. Waves of doubt chased his mixed feelings of excitement. Lord, please let me be up to this task, he prayed. He wondered whether he could handle the stress or accept that during a war, he couldn’t bring every person under his command home. Pushing the hesitation out of his mind as he peered out into the sea of faces, he found his mother and smiled at her. She looked so proud of him, though he could also tell that she wished his father were there to see his momentous accomplishment.

“Captain Arnold,” Heppner began, speaking to the Rabin’s chaplain, “please step forward and lead us in the invocation.”

Captain Jules Arnold, the nondenominational Christian chaplain of the Rabin, took a step forward and spoke into the microphone on the lectern. “Eternal Father, strong to save, bless this proceeding and the soldiers who serve on this ship. Grant us wisdom and courage, and help us to walk in your will. Amen.”

Arnold stepped back as Heppner returned to the lectern. “Major Najem, Major Cohen, please stand.”

David and Najem stood and took their places for the tradition of transfer of command. Heppner continued. “Major Najem, are you ready to be relieved?”

Najem stood ever so slightly taller before she spoke. “I am ready to be relieved.”

Following tradition, David faced her and said, “I relieve you, Major.”

Najem smiled at David. “I am relieved.”

Over the next few minutes, several officers who had known Najem throughout her career spoke about her exploits, her care for her family and crew, and how privileged they felt to know and have the opportunity to work with her. Something that David really focused on was how her family was mentioned repeatedly and that the sacrifices they’d made were also honored. When Najem was presented with a Terran Coalition flag that had been ceremonially flown above the main government annex on Canaan, she handed it to an older woman, whom David realized was her mother because of their similar features, despite an obvious age difference.

Remembering his own mother receiving the flag that had draped his father’s casket, David held back tears as he thought about how often he had missed his father, not always understanding why his father couldn’t be there for various events. At least this family didn’t know that pain in the same way.

One of the final traditions of the ceremony was the reading of a poem named The Watch. At every retirement ceremony David had ever attended, it was read. Sheila read it, standing at attention and reciting it with purpose after being called on by Colonel Heppner.

“For twenty years, this soldier has stood the watch.” Each time the word “watch” was said, the portable bell was struck twice.

“While some of us were in our bunks at night, this soldier stood the watch.”

“While some of us were in school, learning our trade, this soldier stood the watch.”

“Yes… even before some of us were born into this world, this soldier stood the watch.”

“Many times, she would cast an eye toward home and see her family standing there, needing her guidance and help, needing that hand to hold during those hard times, but she still stood the watch.”

“She stood the watch for twenty years. She stood the watch so that we, our families, and our fellow countrymen could sleep soundly in safety each and every night, knowing that a soldier stood the watch.”

“Today we are here to say… Soldier, the watch stands relieved. Relieved by those you have trained, guided, and led. Soldier, you stand relieved. We have the watch.”

After a few moments of silence, Sheila continued, “Bosun, stand by to pipe the side. Soldier’s going ashore.”

Najem stepped forward, exchanged a salute with Colonel Heppner, and walked down the aisle.

Upon her reaching the end, the bosun’s pipe trilled once more, and the master chief announced, “Major, Coalition Defense Force, departing.”

A round of applause broke out throughout the cargo bay as Najem and her family walked out. At Heppner’s nod, David walked down the aisle as well.

The bosun piped out his departure, and the master chief announced, “CSV Yitzhak Rabin, departing.”

David then exited the bay and stood outside, waiting for the rest of the senior officers to leave, after which the entire ship’s company had been invited to join in a “wetting down” of the new commander. It’s going to be a long night. One I will cherish for decades to come.

* * *

A week later, David was settled into the Rabin. He had his gear moved into the CO’s quarters and had made the CO’s office his own. He’d developed a routine that made sense to him. Always an early riser, David liked to get up at what he called Oh Dark Thirty, usually 0430 CMT. He exercised for thirty to forty-five minutes, showered, and got breakfast before taking the first watch on the bridge. He also tried to feel out the rest of the senior officers and develop a rapport with them. The chief engineer on the Rabin, Captain Arthur Hanson, wasn’t that difficult for him to analyze. Hanson was a nerd at heart. He thrived on new technologies and tinkered with the Rabin’s engines to keep them in tip-top shape. David had enough engineering knowledge to know a solid engineer when he saw one.

After the first shift was completed later that day, David had one-on-one meetings with Hanson and First Lieutenant Ruth Goldberg, the tactical action officer—known as the TAO.

Hanson walked into David’s office, a few beads of sweat on his forehead betraying his nervousness. “Captain Arthur Hanson reports as ordered, sir,” he announced after coming to attention in front of David’s desk.

“At ease, Captain. Have a seat.” David gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

Hanson sat down but looked as if he was sweating bullets. “Uh, so, what can I do for you, sir?”

David tried to set the man at ease by smiling. “I want to get to know you better, Captain. This is my first ship command. I served on a vessel that changed command, and I was really struck by how the colonel that took over handled it. One of the things he did was sit down with every senior officer and have a one-on-one with them. I took notes on how he did it. I try in every posting to observe the best attributes and actions my superiors took to one day apply them to my own command.”

“I see, sir.” Hanson wiped his brow.

“I was reading in your service jacket that you’ve primarily served in advanced fusion reactor research and testing assignments. A few years ago, you requested posting to the fleet. I have to ask—why would you want to get out of R and D? That had to be a pretty nice assignment.”

“It was a great assignment, sir. I love working with reactors and trying to get every last ounce of power out of them. I actually got to work on the design and testing team for the reactors in the Ajax class. We were able to improve the ability of the reactor to generate power by nearly forty percent,” Hanson said with evident pride, loosening up a bit.

“Sounds like the kind of thing that could help the entire war effort.”

“Yes, sir, I think it was. Eventually, I just got to the point that I felt I had to stand up and be counted.”

That wasn’t quite the answer David had expected from the nerdy engineer. “How so?”

“Well, sir, you sit behind the line long enough, you get used to it. I really felt like I was in some ways hiding. I resolved to volunteer for combat duty. I’m no Marine, but I wanted to do my part.”

“That’s rather admirable, if you ask me,” David said then pursed his lips.

“Thank you, sir.”

“So how’d you end up here?”

“Well, sir, my detailer said this ship needed a good engineer, and she’s an Ajax class. I did design the reactor,” Hanson said with a smile. “You wouldn’t believe how much more we can get out of these things after the design team integrates the information I’ve been collecting.”

“It really is a technology race, isn’t it,” David said.

“Our edges are our technology and our training. At least from my perspective, sir.”

The Terran Coalition couldn’t ever hope to match the League’s overwhelming numbers, but they had better technology and highly trained personnel, and their soldiers were simply more motivated. It made sense. People fighting to defend their families and homes were more effective than conscripts forced to fight on pain of death. It had been that way for centuries. He had read in history textbooks in high school that back on Earth, the old Freedom Coalition had a scientist named Dr. Sir James Lawrence, who discovered a method to artificially fold space through a stable wormhole. That key piece of technology allowed the Freedom Coalition to evacuate tens of millions of people from Earth and eventually form the Terran Coalition.

“Agreed. And our training is something that can never be neglected, even in wartime. If we don’t exercise on a nearly daily basis, skills are lost. I can’t allow that on my ship, nor can anyone in the CDF allow it.” David paused. “Is there anything I can do to help your department or anything I can get you that you need?”

Hanson shook his head. “No, sir. Major Najem was great about making sure we had what we needed. All I’d ask is that if I have a request, you do your best to get it for us.”

“You have my word on that, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Before we adjourn, anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Uh, no, sir. I’m going to avoid the obvious,” Hanson said. “I’m sure you get tired of people asking about it.”

David decided he was really going to like Hanson. Everyone wanted to talk about his father, asking what it was like being the son of a hero. If David had a credit for every time someone asked him that, he would be rich beyond all dreams. Might not have to think about it all the time either. “I appreciate that more than you can know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’d better get ready for the next meeting. Thank you for stopping by.” David stood and extended his hand, and they shook hands firmly.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be down in engineering, sir.”

“Carry on, Captain.”

Hanson turned and left the office, giving David a few minutes to prepare for his next one-on-one meeting with First Lieutenant Ruth Goldberg, who was more of an enigma. The TAO was primarily responsible for controlling the weapons systems on the ship, guided by David’s orders. Few positions were more important on a warship, and David’s goal was to create a seamless working relationship with Ruth. In a battle, it would be vital that she understood exactly what he wanted to occur.

To within almost the second of the meeting time, a knock came at the hatch to David’s day cabin.

“Come in!” he yelled.

The hatch swung open, and Ruth walked in confidently. She came to attention before his desk. “Lieutenant Ruth Goldberg reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” David replied. “Please, have a seat.”

Ruth sat down on the chair nearest to her and stared at David with piercing eyes, almost as if they were boring through him. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked.

“Straight to the point. I like that, Lieutenant. As I just told Captain Hanson, I’ve been through several changes of command over the years, and I always took notes when I saw someone do it particularly well. One thing that impressed me was a new CO that did one-on-one meetings with all the senior staff. So I decided to crib his idea.”

“I see, sir,” Ruth’s face was emotionless and her tone, direct.

David pressed on. “In reviewing your service jacket, I couldn’t help but notice some discrepancies in your dates of service.” He smiled. “You seem to have been in the CDF since you were sixteen.”

An expression that morphed between pride and sadness washed over Ruth’s face. “Yes, sir. My parents and the rest of my family were killed during the League invasion of our home planet when I was fifteen. I joined a resistance cell. After a year, the TCMC retook our planet, and I forged my father’s signature on my enlistment papers.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize.”

“I don’t normally talk about it, sir. I discovered throughout the course of my service that I have a knack for gunnery control. So I applied for a limited duty officer position at OCS, and here I am.” Ruth smiled ruefully. “I get to stop the Leaguers from doing to another world what they did to mine.”

David felt from the way she spoke that she’d left off, “And I get to make up for what they did to mine.” Revenge could be a powerful motivation but a dark one. David wrestled with it daily. Parts of him simply wanted to kill every last League soldier out there. Yet he also realized that revenge led to a dark place, and if he allowed himself to give in fully to hating the League, he’d be no better than them. Who I am kidding? I hate the League, what it stands for, and its leadership like Admiral Seville more than anything.

“So do we all, Lieutenant. So do we all,” David said. “Is there anything I can do to improve the tactical department or give you the tools you need to do your job better?”

“Well, sir, we haven’t been to the Valiant Shield exercises before, but this year, we were selected to participate before you took command. The ship has never taken home any Command Excellence awards. The crew would love to change that.”

“That sounds like a great goal, Lieutenant. From your perspective, where are we lacking?”

“I don’t think we’re lacking in basic skills, sir. But we need more drills, and in time, those bring practiced muscle memory that doesn’t fail in times of stress. I would recommend that we begin a regimen of random battle drills, and closer to the exercise, we put the crew through its paces constantly.”

“It sure would be nice to have a Battle E on this ship at our first exercise,” David said with a grin. The Battle Efficiency Award was given to the ship that performed the best in a series of exercises within its squadron. They were a source of great pride for the crew, who were allowed to wear a distinctive Battle E ribbon on their uniform if the ship they were serving on won the award. “Work with the XO to put together the battle-drill scenarios. I want them kept fresh and to be scenarios we’d be likely to see in the real world.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruth replied, perking up. “If I may, sir, I couldn’t help but notice you’re from New Israel. Do you practice?”

“I do. I consider myself to be a modern Orthodox Jew. What about you?” Ruth had a Star of David patch under the CDF flag on her shoulder.

“I’m somewhere between Conservative and Orthodox, sir.” She offered a half smile. “I don’t always keep kosher, but I do keep up with my prayers and don’t eat pork.”

David laughed. “I don’t know many Jews, even Reform, that eat pork. I know our chaplain is a Christian, so do we have any services of our own aboard?”

“A group of us gathers for Shabbat weekly, sir. On Saturday, we also gather for a message delivered via subspace radio. Since several of us are Orthodox, we recruit a non-Jew to turn on the feed for us.”

“I see. Perhaps there is room for one more.”

“There’s always room for one more, sir. Maybe you would care to lead us this Friday. I understand you once wanted to be a rabbi.”

“That was a lifetime ago.” I am not going there in my first one-on-one discussion with a subordinate. “But I would be happy to join you all, and if I can contribute in some way, I will.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll send an invite to your account on the ship’s calendar.”

David suddenly felt uncomfortable. Confronting that part of his past wasn’t something he liked to do. Going from a man who wanted to teach others about God to a military officer responsible for the deaths of only God knew how many other sentient beings disturbed him. “Well, Lieutenant, I’d better get ready for my next meeting. Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time.” He stood.

“Of course, sir. I look forward to our ship winning that Battle E.” Ruth stood as well.

As he had with his previous meetings, he extended his hand and shook hers firmly. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”

As Ruth left, David wondered what anger and hate she harbored toward the League. He worried that it would eventually consume her and made it one of his goals for his assigned time to the Rabin to try to help her through those emotions. Maybe in so doing, he could help himself as well.

Between planning sessions with the senior officers over the next few weeks, Sheila and Ruth’s random battle drills, and Hanson’s constant tweaks to get just a little more effectiveness out of the main reactors and systems, the ship was more than ready to compete in Valiant Shield.

For two weeks, the Rabin and her crew participated in around-the-clock exercises and simulations. Much to David’s surprise, the Rabin took home not only the Battle E but also the Fast Warfare Excellence award and the Engineering and Survivability Excellence award at the end of the exercise. As she headed back to the front, a gold E, a black E, and a red E were proudly displayed under her bridge, and all members of her crew wore the Battle E ribbon with pride.

Over the next six months, the Rabin also participated in several border skirmishes, including a couple that resulted in disabled League vessels, without taking severe damage. However, it was only a matter of time before a significant engagement occurred in his assigned patrol sector, as the League had been pouring more resources into the area for weeks, building up to a new offensive campaign.

Much like every other day for the last few months, on 16 August, 2460, David got up at 0430, exercised in the ship’s gym, took a shower, and readied himself for the day. Grabbing a cup of hot coffee and a small breakfast before he made his way to bridge, he exchanged pleasantries with most of the ship’s officers. Another thing the CDF had inherited from its wet navy predecessors were customs and courtesies to officers. As such, whenever he first encountered any crewman on the Rabin in a given twenty-four-hour period, enlisted or officer, that person would come to attention. Since they were on a ship, a cover was not worn except on the bridge, and salutes were not exchanged except when covered.

While David respected the traditions, the practice made him feel somewhat out of place. He didn’t believe he deserved the level of attention given, but that was tradition, and an old master chief or two had explained to him that the customs weren’t for him but more for the position he occupied. That was something he could accept far more freely.

As he reached the bridge, he donned his cover and strode through the hatch.

The eagle-eyed master chief announced David’s presence. “Commanding officer on the bridge.”

Those crew members and officers who were not strapped into their stations immediately came to attention and saluted. David returned their salutes and took the CO’s chair.

A junior officer who had been standing watch turned to David. “Sir, are you ready to take the conn?”

David nodded. “This is the commanding officer. I have the conn.”

The rest of the officers on station acknowledged David’s order, and he spent the next few minutes studying the ship’s status displays before settling in to the first watch of the day.

A few hours into the watch, the communications officer interrupted David’s thoughts. “Conn, Communications. I have flash traffic from the CSV Dutiful.”

David’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the Dutiful. It was another Ajax-class destroyer assigned to his sector, and its CO was a lieutenant colonel who doubled as the overall commander for the space action group David and his ship were assigned to.

“Put it on my personal viewer, Lieutenant.”

A moment later, a video feed of Lieutenant Colonel Dyson showed on the viewer above the CO’s chair.

“Greetings, Major,” Dyson said. “How are those shiny new E’s on your ship doing?”

The mention of the Battle E brought a smile to David’s face, and he beamed with pride. “Still have that new-paint smell, Colonel.”

“Well, we’re about to put them to the test. I’m marshalling a force to interdict a League convoy that’s trying to exit Coalition space. CDF Intelligence believes the convoy contains thousands of captured civilians the League is trying to transport back to their space.”

David’s stomach turned. Captured Terran Coalition civilians were treated as no more than slaves by the League. They were forced into reeducation camps where torture was commonplace, until death came from the back-breaking hard labor they had to endure. “Understood, sir. How can we help?”

“Proceed to the coordinates I’m about to send you as fast as possible. My navigator tells me you’ll arrive after us, but it’s vital we jump this convoy while its Lawrence drives cool down.”

“Aye, sir. Wouldn’t want to miss the party.” David grinned.

Dyson laughed. “You won’t, Major. There are ten League combat ships escorting these freighters. We’ll have three frigates with us, but it’s still going to be a fight.” His expression darkened. “Godspeed, Major. We’ll see you soon.”

“Godspeed, Colonel,” David said before the screen went dark.

The mood on the bridge had gone from businesslike to edgy within seconds of David’s discussion with Dyson. He took note as he ran through what they were about to fly into—a significant fleet engagement where they would be outnumbered though not necessarily outgunned. Terran Coalition vessels, especially the newest classes such as the Ajax, were technologically superior to any League ship of equal tonnage. The problem for the Terran Coalition was that the League greatly outnumbered them. While the League could stand to lose four ships to each CDF ship it destroyed, the CDF had to achieve a ratio of between six and eight to one. Anything less was a Pyrrhic victory.

“XO, take the navigation station. Lieutenant Godfrey, take tactical subcontrol, if you please.”

Lieutenant Godfrey’s face turned ashen. “Sir?”

David shook his head. “Lieutenant, this is no slight on your abilities, but we’re about to fly into our first major fleet engagement, and I want the best helmsman on the ship flying us. No second chances on this one. You’ve only been on the job for three weeks.”

Godfrey nodded stiffly. “Aye, sir.”

David wished he hadn’t had to say that on the bridge, but he couldn’t have a novice taking them into combat for the first time. Sheila was the best pilot on the ship, and he needed her flying.

As she took her position at the navigation station, looking out the bridge windows, David punched up the ship-wide intercom, 1MC.

“Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. General quarters. General quarters. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill.”

A moment after David finished speaking, blue light bathed the bridge of the Rabin, and the general-quarters klaxon sounded. There would be pandemonium below as the crew raced to their assigned battle stations. I remember those days.

Sheila turned back from the navigation station. “Conn, Navigation. Course laid in, and our Lawrence drive is ready to engage.”

“TAO, energize our shields and charge the energy-weapons capacitor the moment we exit our second jump. Preload all magnetic cannons with high-explosive rounds. Make missile cells one and two ready in all respects except opening the outer doors.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Ruth said. “Shields raised. Magnetic cannons loaded with high-explosive rounds.”

“XO, charge Lawrence drive.”

“Aye, sir. Charging Lawrence drive,” Sheila replied.

David punched a button on his chair, activating the intercom in the engine room. “Cohen to Hanson.”

“Hanson here, sir.”

“The moment we secure our Lawrence drive, start emergency-jump-readiness procedures. I want to be on our way the second it’s safe.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The only downside of our FTL system. If we jump too many times in quick succession, exotic particles are introduced, and if they appear in the wrong spot, well… catastrophic explosion and no more Rabin.

The ship’s Lawrence drive started drawing power from the main reactor, building up to what amounted to critical mass, opening a wormhole between two points. As soon as the wormhole was confirmed to be stable, Sheila guided the Rabin through its gaping maw, and they emerged on the other side. Little was said on the bridge as the Rabin went through a fifteen-minute cooldown period, then the engineering staff confirmed that the Lawrence drive was ready to engage once more.

David took a few minutes to collect his thoughts before whispering a prayer in Hebrew. “God, if it is your will, protect my crew and allow them to return to their families safely.” He always prayed before battle but never for victory, only asking that God spare the lives of his crew.

“Conn, Engineering. Safety checks complete. We’re ready to jump.”

“Engineering, acknowledged. Prepare for jump,” David said.

He gripped both sides of his chair, looking around the room. Fighting down the knot in his stomach, he decided that all of them might use a few words of encouragement.

After punching up 1MC again, David said into the mic, “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. We are about to jump into combat against the League. Our objective is to neutralize the enemy force and rescue civilians being held on slave transports. This will be our first true battle together. Remember your training, trust in your crewmates, and say a prayer. We’re going to need all the help we can get. Godspeed. Cohen out.”

David turned forward, toward Sheila. “XO, engage Lawrence drive.”

7

Space tore itself open in Sector 17A, and a wormhole appeared—a swirling mass of color and energy. The CSV Yitzhak Rabin emerged, and its artificial tunnel through the stars closed within seconds.

On the bridge, Sheila was the first to speak. “Conn, Navigation. Transit complete. Emerging from wormhole within five thousand kilometers of target.”

David took in the situation, looking above his chair at the CO’s display. Noting that all systems were normal, he turned his attention to Ruth. “TAO, report.”

Ruth peered at her monitors. “LIDAR sensors coming online, sir.” The first seconds after emergence from FTL were the most nerve-racking as the detection systems reset. Blips appeared on the screens in front of her. “Six Lancer-class frigates designated Master One through Six, Four Cobra-class destroyers designated Master Seven through Ten. Multiple transports designated Sierra One through Seven, sir. They’re not moving.” She didn’t bother reading out the Coalition ships, led by Dyson’s vessel, the CSV Dutiful.

David nodded. Four Cobra-class destroyers and six Lancer-class frigates from the League weren’t bad odds for the Coalition force assembled. The Cobra was an older destroyer that the League deployed en masse. Two of them alone were no match for the newest Ajax-class destroyers, and Lancer-class frigates were even less capable against superior Coalition technology. “TAO, range of closest enemy vessel?”

Ruth’s eyes never left her displays. “Master One and Two, sir. Range six thousand kilometers.” In CDF nomenclature, Master denoted a hostile contact—a target.

“Navigation, plot intercept course.”

“Intercept course, aye, aye sir.”

“TAO, firing point procedures, neutron beams and magnetic cannons, Master One and Master Two.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

David sat back slightly. Fighting to keep his adrenaline in check, he viewed his plot one more time. “TAO, shoot, neutron beams and magnetic cannons.”

The Rabin’s engines fired brightly, accelerating toward her targets. The two League Lancer-class frigates turned to face their new foe. A full salvo of magnetic-cannon projectiles erupted from the Rabin’s forward dorsal and ventral mag-cannon turrets and raced toward her opponents, followed by a burst from her neutron-beam emitters. Hits sent ripples across the shielding of both targets. A bright flare came from the second Lancer when the barrage successfully battered down its protective screens.

“Conn, TAO. Master One shields are now at thirty percent,” Ruth said. “Master Two shields have failed.”

David acknowledged her statement with a nod. “Navigation, come about and present our forward arc to Master Two. TAO, firing point procedures, forward missile cells and magnetic cannons, Master Two.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

“TAO, shoot, forward missile cells and magnetic cannons.”

The Rabin turned sharply and brought her turreted mag-cannons to bear on the enemy vessel. Missiles erupted from her forward missile cells mounted both to port and starboard along the ship’s bow and accelerated toward the League frigate. Another salvo from her forward dorsal-mounted mag-cannons quickly followed. Explosions ripped across the surface of the Lancer, blowing away the small vessel’s stern. On his tactical viewer, David watched as the enemy ship’s speed decreased rapidly until it was drifting in space.

Ruth’s reaction was measured and professional. “Conn, TAO. Master Two disabled, sir.” Then she seemed to notice something on her screen. “Master One coming about, sir. She’s firing.”

The other Lancer, seeing her sister’s destruction, came from above and let loose with her own weapons complement—primarily missiles and plasma cannons—on the Rabin. The ship shook from the strain on her deflectors.

“Conn, TAO. Aft shields at sixty percent. Aft point defense has lost one turret. Master One is taking up a position directly behind us.”

David gave no outward reaction. The enemy had taken a risk with that maneuver, but trying to hide from the Rabin’s bow weaponry by moving along her stern would backfire for them. “TAO, firing point procedures, ready four fusion mines.”

Ruth immediately armed the mines and prepared to launch. “Launch solution set, sir.”

David peered intently at his plot to be sure it was the right time to deploy. “TAO, shoot, fusion mines.”

From the rear of the Rabin, the disc-shaped mines dropped like depth charges of an old Earth wet navy. The helmsman on the doomed Lancer had apparently been following too closely, as the ship’s last-second course change was too slow to avoid explosive devices.

The first struck the Lancer’s forward shield, and the resulting explosion caused the shield to fail for several seconds, letting the other three mines pass through unharmed to smack against the vessel’s thinly armored hull. The fusion warheads detonated, and in a blinding flash, they produced a massive burst of energy that ripped into and melted through the frigate.

Each mine in succession produced an enormous explosion until the third’s self-immolation claimed the Lancer’s primary missile magazine, detonating its volatile projectiles. A process feared by all crews began as the ship blew itself apart from the inside out. The resulting debris was no larger than half-meter chunks.

“Conn, TAO. Master One destroyed, sir. No escape pods detected.”

The shocking loss of life caused by David’s orders washed over him. He hated that about war. No matter how often they tried to take prisoners over outright destruction of League ships, sometimes the ships simply blew up. He set that aside quickly and asked calmly, “TAO, target report?”

“Conn, TAO. Master One, Two, Four, and Seven neutralized. Remaining enemy ships are grouping together around Sierra contacts.” She moved closer, apparently alarmed by a ghostly sensor reading. “Aspect change, sir. I’m showing another wormhole transit, League signature. Unknown contact inbound.”

A short distance away from the fight, a new wormhole ripped through space and time. The ship that emerged was larger than any other nearby, prominently displaying the foreboding insignia of the League of Sol.

David gulped. He didn’t need to hear Ruth’s report to know what it was.

“Conn, TAO. New contact designated Master Eleven, classified as a Rand-class cruiser.”

The monstrous Rand raced toward the battle like a one-hundred-fifty-kilo linebacker rushing the pint-sized chess club’s brawl. Clearly a superior combatant, it tilted the battle heavily in the League’s favor.

David restrained the fear twisting his stomach. Not a single ship present was a match for a Rand. Even if they fought together, it might be impossible. “Comms, signal the Dutiful. Request immediate instructions.”

Before the answer came, the Rand’s heavy weaponry thundered in the darkness and ripped apart a small Meade-class frigate—the CSV Fredericksham. The vessel and its crew were brushed aside like an annoying insect.

The cruiser turned to bring some of its weapons to bear upon the Dutiful. Dyson’s ship took the hit on its dorsal side. Explosions tore through the destroyer’s hull, and the ship’s engines died, leaving it crippled for the Rand to dispatch at her convenience.

Fear covered Ruth’s face as she turned toward David. “Conn, TAO. Dutiful disabled, and Fredericksham has been destroyed.”

David forced himself to stop and think, despite the urgency of the situation, and not allow the enemy to compromise his OODA—observe, orient, decide, act—loop. While two Ajax-class destroyers and three Meade-class frigates might take on a Rand-class cruiser and win, with one destroyer out of the fight and a frigate destroyed, the battle was shaping up to be hopeless. Were it not for the transports, he would’ve ordered a general retreat, but he couldn’t bear to leave the thousands of civilians in them to be sent back to League space as slaves. We swore an oath to protect those people at any cost—including our lives—if necessary.

“TAO, status of Sierra contacts?”

“They’re still immobile, sir.”

“XO, intercept course on the Rand!” David barked, his mind made up. “Take us directly over Master Eleven and stand by to execute a ninety-degree ventral turn on my mark.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“TAO, firing point procedures. Load all remaining fusion mines into the aft dispenser. Set time delay to four seconds.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

David punched the button on his chair for the intercom to engineering. “Hanson, reroute all available power to the shields and evacuate all personnel from the outer decks.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hanson said, his voice crackling through the speaker.

If Sheila were in her usual seat, she would lean in and ask him precisely what the plan was. Sorry, old friend. Can’t explain it to you. You’ll just have to trust me.

The Rabin accelerated toward the Rand, and the League cruiser swatted at the Rabin with its high-energy directed particle cannons, striking them head-on. The ship rumbled, and energy feedback from the shield system caused the sensor station to blow its fuse.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields near collapse, sir,”

“TAO, firing point procedures, target neutron beams, magnetic cannons, and forward missile cells on Master Eleven.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

David had no illusions about the effectiveness of his ship’s weapons against the Rand. Maybe we can just keep them guessing a few seconds longer. That’s all I need.

“TAO, shoot, all weapons. XO, execute immediate evasive action without compromising our time to target.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sheila replied.

She began an evasive pattern immediately. The Rabin’s slight zigzag caused a missile barrage to miss. The enemy weapons were unable to track effectively at close range. Then the cruiser’s particle cannons hit home once more, despite her maneuvering. The first strike caused a brief flare along the Rabin’s forward shields, successfully overloading them, while the second cut right through the armor, piercing the vessel’s bow. Debris and bodies erupted from the holes cut into the ship. Meanwhile, the Rabin lashed back at the Rand with its weapons suite, obtaining multiple hits against its deflectors but not causing any real damage.

The feedback from the shield system being overloaded was even nastier than before. One of the secondary consoles caught fire before the bridge’s attentive damage-control team extinguished the blaze.

Over the clamor, Ruth bellowed, “Conn, TAO! Forward shields failed, sir. Forward hull and systems severely damaged.”

“Conn, Navigation. We’re ten seconds from executing the turn, sir.”

“Navigation, steady as she goes. TAO, firing point procedures, aft mine dispenser. Stand by to release on my mark,” David said. I’m in the zone.

The destroyer continued forward. On his tactical plot, David watched as the icons for the two ships merged. Apparently, the Rand’s bridge crew assumed the worst—that the Rabin would ram them. Real-time sensor information showed the heavy cruiser’s shields diverting to a different arc—where perhaps they thought the Rabin would hit.

Gotcha. “Navigation, now. TAO, shoot, aft mine dispenser.”

As soon as “now” left David’s mouth, Sheila banked the ship upward, pulling away from the Rand. As the maneuver was completed, eight mines popped out of the aft dispenser, thrown directly onto the Rand’s tough hull. As the four critical seconds counted down, the Rabin’s engines accelerated once more, thrusting the small destroyer away from her massive foe.

At the fourth second, the mines detonated successfully. The explosion they produced was colossal, tearing away armored hull and internal structure alike and engulfing the upper hull of the Rand in energy. Secondary explosions from lost magazines and a fuel bunker for the cruiser’s shuttles tore up the top quarter of the ship’s structure, doing massive internal damage.

“Conn, TAO. All mines impacted, sir.” Ruth’s voice had dropped to normal volume. “Master Eleven is attempting to jump out.”

Sheila shook her head. “They’ll never make it,” she said in a brief departure from standard bridge protocol.

Unexpectedly wounded by a foe inferior to her strength, the dying Rand turned away from the battle, and her wormhole drive began to power up. As it reached its full charge, the stress on the ship’s damaged systems became too great. Plasma tanks ruptured from structural damage, the overloaded power systems failed, and a catastrophic series of explosions gutted the hapless monster. The ship’s massive left engine wrenched free from the ship in an explosion that tore apart the Rand from the inside out, turning the deadly beast into an expanding cloud of debris.

The Rabin’s bridge crew didn’t stop to enjoy their great kill.

David was all business as he asked Ruth, “TAO, status on the remaining hostile contacts?”

“Sir, Master Eight remains operational. It’s heading straight for the transports and is firing on Sierra Four.”

David swore under his breath, disgusted with the League’s actions. Not content to simply take a loss and retreat, they had to spoil the well by killing thousands of civilians. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Eight. Anything we’ve got left.”

The speaker on David’s chair crackled. “Conn, Engineering. This is Hanson. We’ve got casualties down here, and I’m unable to route power to any forward weapons systems except the magnetic-cannon turrets.”

David digested that and turned to Ruth. “TAO, can we disable Master Eight with only our magnetic cannons in time to prevent them from taking out those transports?”

“Unlikely, sir. Master Eight has taken limited fire in the engagement so far. Its shields are at nearly one hundred percent effectiveness.”

David peered at his command plot. With the other CDF ships out of the fight, his options were limited. I could engage with conventional weapons. Maybe Hanson will pull a rabbit out of his hat and get us something else. With full shields, though… that frigate could take out at least one transport before we could neutralize her. With tens of thousands of lives hanging in the balance, he felt his mind freeze, a tug of war breaking out between protocol and emotion.

Controlled ramming. That’s the only option left. “Navigation, plot intercept course with Master Eight. All ahead flank. I want you to ram the contact.”

Sheila whirled around. “Say again, sir?”

“I said ram Master Eight, XO. Try to glance the belly of our ship off their dorsal midsection.”

Sheila continued to stare at him. “With all due respect, sir, our bow is severely damaged, and we may not survive the impact.”

“And if we don’t neutralize that ship, it will kill all the civilians aboard those transports. We knew what the score was when we signed up for this job. They didn’t. We’ll do anything we can, including giving our lives to save them,” David said calmly, despite the chaos around him. I know that’s the right call. It’s right there in article one of the CDF code of conduct. I will give my life if necessary to defend the Terran Coalition and the civilians I protect.

Sheila turned back around. “Aye, aye, sir.” Her tone held concern.

David punched a button on his console, pulling up the 1MC. “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. Prepare for in-space collision. Evacuate the outer hull immediately and erect localized emergency force fields.”

David glanced back at a tall, older enlisted man. “Master Chief, sound collision alarm.”

“Sound collision alarm. Aye, sir,” he replied, and immediately, a klaxon wailed.

The Rabin closed in quickly on the Lancer. Its crew rather ineffectively attempted to evade. The two ships traded weapons fire at the last moment, but the Rabin’s weaponry wasn’t able to penetrate the shields of the smaller League ship. As the Rabin entered its terminal course, Sheila angled the Rabin’s bow in such a way that the less damaged section would impact the frigate’s command deck.

The Rabin’s bow plowed into the command-deck of the smaller frigate, crumpling the underbelly of the ship and venting atmosphere into space. Small explosions occurred up and down the dorsal section of the Lancer and ventral section of the Rabin. Pieces of debris and super structure expanded from both ships, small fires erupting as blisters on the hull before extinguishing from lack of oxygen in the vacuum. As the Rabin veered away, the Lancer’s running lights flickered, and it began to drift.

The Rabin’s bridge crew had survived, but the ship had suffered considerable damage. Another small fire broke out in the back but was quickly extinguished by the assigned bridge damage-control team.

David pressed the communication button on his command chair for the engineering spaces. “Engineering, status?” he asked, hoping the ship was still combat capable.

Hanson’s voice came through the speaker. “Sir, I’ve had to SCRAM our main reactor. We’re running on battery power. I hope to be able to restore our reactor once we can repair the damaged coolant lines.”

David laid his head back on the headrest. “Understood. Keep me apprised.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes.”

David leaned forward. Dear God, we can’t take any more. “TAO, whose are they?” he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Ruth’s expression changed into a smile of relief. “Sir, inbound wormholes have a CDF signature.”

In front of the Rabin, three wormholes opened, and out of each emerged a large CDF warship and its consorts. Small craft quickly released from the ships, heading toward the transports.

Ruth looked back at David. “I’m reading the CSV Cicero and its battle group, sir.”

David finally allowed himself to relax just a hair. “Acknowledged, TAO. Communications, please send the commanding officer of the Cicero my compliments and request that they send additional damage-control and medical teams to all stricken vessels.”

* * *

“Grab a sandwich before you sit down, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t believe any of us have had the opportunity to eat in the last sixteen hours since the engagement,” David said.

He and the rest of the senior command staff were seated in the conference room aboard the Rabin. Even there, ample evidence showed the battle they’d just survived. Debris from the ceiling lay piled against the bulkheads, and the holoprojector system was offline.

Hanson grabbed one of the sandwiches and ripped into it with gusto. “Thanks for having these brought up, sir. I’m not sure I’ve been this worn out since nuclear engineering school.”

Sheila smirked. “An army marches on its stomach, right?” She glanced over at what David was eating. “Are you sure this is kosher, sir?”

“I had one prepared without cheese.”

Ruth had smiled, and it appeared as if she would join in the ribbing, but David’s curt reply wiped it off her face. “Most of our weapons systems remain offline because of lack of power, sir. Captain Hanson assures me we will have limited power to our magnetic cannons in the next twenty-four hours.”

David nodded before turning to Hanson. “What’s our overall status?”

“We’re in bad shape, sir. I’ve got teams still trying to access parts of the ship that were exposed to vacuum. It’s a real mess. We’ll require drydock for an extended period, if the ship remains space-worthy. I have concerns at this point that our main armored keel may be too damaged for Lawrence drive jumps.”

David looked around the conference room, noting the tired, worried expressions of his senior staff. “Thank you, Captain. I have an update on our casualty reports.” He paused, looking down at the table as shame got the better of him. “Search and rescue from the Cicero has confirmed seventy-eight fatalities aboard the Rabin.” Seventy-eight people were nearly a sixth of the ship’s crew complement. “We’ve had another fifty-nine evacuated to the Cicero for additional medical treatment. We took a beating.”

“I’d like to get a counselor or two to help the crew, sir,” Sheila said.

“I agree. I’ll let you coordinate that, XO. Our first objective must be to get the Rabin able to move under her own power. Then get underway to Canaan space dock.”

Ruth spoke up. “Sirs, I received a briefing from the tactical action officer aboard the Cicero as to what they found on the transports when the Marines stormed aboard. There were over thirty thousand Terran Coalition civilians saved.”

“So, intelligence was right for a change?” Hanson asked, apparently trying to inject some levity into the discussion. When no one else cracked a smile, he remained silent.

“At least we got it right,” David said. “That counts for something when I have to tell their families.” He cleared his throat. “Okay. Let’s get back to work. We’ll meet again in eighteen hours, but I want all of you to get at least six hours’ sleep. If we’re too tired to work, we’ll make mistakes, which will cost us time we don’t have. I want this ship underway in thirty-six hours. Dismissed.”

Hanson and Ruth quickly stood and left the room, but Sheila remained behind. “David, are you okay?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Sheila, I just cost seventy-eight members of my crew their lives. I was supposed to get them home. I don’t even know how to process that. I…” David lowered his head, grimacing.

“We all know the risks for what we do here. You know that. You said it yourself on the bridge when giving the order.”

David shook his head. “Doesn’t change that it’s my job to get them home.”

“It’s also your job to protect our civilians and get them home. We did that today. You did that, David. You were so sure of yourself on the bridge when this happened. I thought you were going to sacrifice the entire ship to stop that frigate.”

“During the fight, it’s different.” David finally lifted his head. “I get tunnel vision, and it’s easy to see the best way to defeat the enemy. But afterward… I have to live with the decisions I make. I thought when I was in charge, I could get us all home. That’s obviously not the case.”

“No, it’s not. But in times like this, we have to remember who our enemy is and why this war is happening. Focus on defeating them, not on blaming ourselves.”

David offered a half-hearted smile. “Good advice, counselor.”

“Ha. I’ll be on the bridge. Take your own advice and go get some sleep. You’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight. You need rest too.”

“I’ll try,” he murmured before grabbing his tablet and walking out of the conference room behind her.

8

Sitting at the desk in his office aboard the Rabin, David took in the latest repair reports. It appeared that while the ship would require six to twelve months in drydock, she wasn’t beyond repair yet.

He flipped back to a rough draft of a letter to the family of one of the seventy-eight personnel that had perished. Throughout his career, he had written to the families of everyone who had ever died under his command, dreading every single letter. Pausing, he remembered when he and his mother had been told that his father would not be coming home. The pain, the fury, all of it came back to him at once. He hoped the letters would be of some comfort to the families—though they could never be enough. David believed that every life was precious, and every life lost must be remembered, celebrated, and mourned.

During his reflection, the communication tab on his tablet began to blink with a video-conference request. He tapped on the icon to see who it was from, and Colonel Meier, CSV Cicero popped onto the screen as the requestor.

Pressing the accept button with his index finger, he brought up the vidlink. “Colonel, what can I do for you, sir?”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase, Major. I want you to know that I believe the actions of you and your crew during yesterday’s battle were among the bravest I have ever seen. You took on a heavy cruiser with a destroyer and somehow managed to win. Then you rammed a frigate and prevented it from destroying transport vessels with over thirty thousand civilians aboard. I don’t know if you got lucky, if you’re just that damned good, or maybe God’s looking out for you, but whatever it is, it ought to be celebrated. Everyone on your ship deserves a medal, in my eyes.”

David’s head raced, wondering where Meier was going.

“I regret to inform you that you will not be getting such recognition,” Colonel Meier continued, frowning. “I’ve been ordered to relieve you of your command and confine you to quarters for the trip back to Canaan. I’m going to spare you that indignity, but I must inform you that when we reach Canaan, you will be brought up before a review board to determine whether you should be court-martialed. You have my word—I will do whatever I can to present evidence at the hearing in your favor. We need more officers like you out here in the fight, Cohen. Whatever happens, I want you to know it was an honor to meet you and your crew and to serve with you. Godspeed.” The vidlink as it went dark.

David leaned back, angry, despondent, and ashamed. But I won, he thought. A counter voice replied, And you got twenty percent of your crew killed doing it, just like you got Beckett killed sixteen years ago. He was already in a bad place, trying to deal with the loss of so many. To have the CDF say that he screwed up made it all the worse. The fear that he wasn’t cut out to do the job and that he was endangering the lives of those under his command roared to the surface.

Sitting quietly in his quarters, David pondered that for a long time.

* * *

After the Rabin had docked at Canaan’s main space station two days later, it was time for the solemn ceremony to remove the dead from the Rabin and entrust them to the mortuary team for proper burial. David stood at the base of cargo bay three, looking up at the large doors as they slid open to reveal the fallen ready to be offloaded. It had taken several hours to transfer the remains into caskets, drape each one with the flag of the Terran Coalition, and line them up in neat rows in the cargo bay for unloading. Numerous service members from the station stood by to help with the transfer. An honor guard in full-dress uniform stood at attention to the right of the cargo bay doors while the colors were displayed. Another two rows of soldiers stood outside the doors at rigid attention. As the caskets were removed from the ship, they would be walked down the aisle created by the formation.

Sheila, Ruth, and Hanson all stood behind David in full-dress uniforms as pallbearers brought the first casket down the steps. David snapped his right hand up to his brow, as did rest of the assembled company. One by one, the caskets were brought down from the ship and taken to waiting anti-grav units to be moved inside the station. A somber mood hung in the air as the soldiers looked at their feet. No one made eye contact with one another. David fought the urge to show emotion and didn’t allow tears to well in his eyes. At the halfway point, thirty-nine caskets, he could contain himself no longer. A single tear rolled down his face, followed by another, then another.

Sheila noticed and whispered, “David, it’s not your fault.”

“I gave the order. It was on my watch. It is my fault.”

By the end of the seventy-eight caskets—some that didn’t even contain remains because the bodies had been lost in space—David was in a horrible place, going between blaming himself and wanting to kill every last Leaguer. He snapped his hand down as the final casket was loaded into an anti-grav unit. A bagpiper with the color guard began to play “Amazing Grace.” Then the anti-grav units faded from view into the space station.

David turned to the three senior officers. “Was their sacrifice worth it?” he asked no one in particular. Of course it was, and even questioning that dishonors their memory.

“Yes, it was, sir,” Sheila said somberly. “Thirty thousand innocent people went home. I believe if you asked each and every one of those who died on our ship, they’d gladly do it again.”

David looked back at the ship, unable to control his emotions as tears streamed down his face.

“It was worth it, sir. And it is an honor to serve with you.” Ruth’s voice broke.

The three of them stared at one another, and Sheila stood at attention. Ruth and Hanson followed as Sheila brought her hand up to her brow.

“Sir,” she said softly.

David slowly brought his hand to his brow before snapping it down in a crisp, practiced motion. They did as well.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice devoid of life and energy.

“Come on, sir. Let’s go raise a glass to the fallen and get ready for the hearing.” Sheila gestured to the gangway.

9

Standing outside what amounted to a courtroom aboard the main CDF military station orbiting Canaan, David watched the waiting room silently with several of the Rabin’s officers, including Ruth and Sheila. In the few days that it took to get back to Canaan, he’d mostly stayed in his stateroom. He was frustrated and angry with his situation, replaying the events of the battle over and over and looking for where he’d gone wrong. He hadn’t asked any of his senior officers to come with him to the hearing. In fact, he was almost too ashamed to tell them what had happened, but the Rabin was a small ship, and word quickly got around. While he would never admit it, knowing that those he led had his back meant the world to him.

Sheila broke the silence by stating what David felt but was unwilling to say. “This is crap, sir. They weren’t there.”

“I’m not sure I’d say it quite that directly, Captain.” A portly man wearing a CDF dress uniform that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks, complete with the eagle insignia of the Judge Advocate General Corps, walked up. “Major Richard Gray, JAG Corps, at your service, Major Cohen.”

David regarded the man and his rumpled appearance. “Thank you, Major. I thought we would have had some time to discuss the case before going before the review board.”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “Yes, this case is moving a bit faster than most. But I think you’ll come out on top.”

David couldn’t help but let out a snort. “And why would you say that?”

Gray gestured to the officers gathered around. “Because you seem to have quite the loyal following. I also understand that Colonel Meier, CO of the Cicero, gave evidence on your behalf.”

David glanced toward the door. “What am I facing in there, Major?”

“A three-star general, Daniel Barton, who also commands the Canaan Home Defense Fleet. Bastard Barton, as we call him, seems to love to make examples of young officers, and you’re square in his sights. The man is a defeatist, in my view, but who am I to judge?”

David shrugged. “I’m sure someone has decided I was a defeatist at some point in my life, but I simply abhor the needless loss of life. So how is this going to work, Major?” I just want this over with, regardless of how it turns out.

“We’ll be called into the chamber, General Barton will present evidence against you, and I will present evidence for you. The board will decide whether it will clear you or recommend you for a general court-martial.”

A young corporal opened the door. “Major Cohen, Major Gray, they’re ready for you.”

Gray looked back at the assembled officers. “You’ll have to wait here. Major Cohen, come with me, please.”

With that, they walked into the room. The large wooden doors closed behind them. The review board room, despite containing five flag-ranked officers, wasn’t an ostentatious place. It was functional, resembling a small courtroom. It held a table for the prosecutor and another for the defendant. Gray gestured toward the defense table. As he and David took their places, a door to the side of the judge’s bench opened, and five generals filed out.

The corporal who had escorted them in announced, “All rise! Coalition Defense Force general review board is now in session regarding the actions of Major David Cohen in the battle of Sector 17A.”

David and Gray came to attention as the five officers took their seats. General Barton, a tall, well-built man in an immaculate CDF dress uniform, took a seat at the prosecutor’s table, while the other four generals sat behind the judge’s bench. David and Gray followed suit and took their seats behind the defendant’s table.

“General Barton, please begin your presentation on the actions of 16 August, 2460, in Sector 17A, which we are convened here to evaluate,” a late-middle-aged woman directed. A nameplate before her read General Andrews.

Barton pushed back from his table and stood, setting his tablet down. “Rather than step through all the written testimony, I’d like to start by showing the board a simulation.”

A holoprojector snapped on, and a thirty-second simulation of the Rabin ramming the Lancer-class frigate played then froze at the point that the two ships began to drift away.

“Now, Major Cohen, I don’t think we need to continue the simulation,” Barton said, looking toward David and his counsel. “What we just saw here cost seventy-eight lives, not to mention caused extensive structural damage to your ship, rendering it un-space-worthy for a period of not less than twelve months.”

Barton paused before continuing his verbal assault. “During the action of 16 August, 2460, in Sector 17A, your ship received heavy damage in combat with a League escort unit conveying transports back to League territory. In that engagement, your division commander was unable to communicate directly because of battle damage, making him unable to relay orders to you or your ship. You immediately began a ramming maneuver that, in my personal judgment, did nothing of sufficient merit in the battle or the war as a whole. You wasted those lives, Major, like pouring water into sand.” Barton sneered down at them.

Major Gray stood and waved a personal tablet in the air as a theatrical device. His response had already been sent electronically to the review board. “According to the after-action reports filed by Colonel Meier, the aforementioned action on the sixteenth of August was a victory that netted the capture of a League convoy that was later discovered to have carried roughly thirty thousand Coalition civilians from the occupied worlds in that sector, who would have been sent to League labor gulags. Colonel Meier further stated, and I quote, ‘Major Cohen and the crew of the Yitzhak Rabin performed one of the bravest and most selfless acts I’ve seen throughout my twenty-four-year career. Furthermore, the major’s conduct was consistent with the finest traditions of the Coalition Defense Force and the high standards to which we hold our officers and enlisted soldiers.’”

Another general, who looked bored with the back and forth, interrupted Gray. “We don’t need you to explain this to us, Major. It’s all here in your brief. Major Cohen, your advocate has presented what looks to be a very effective defense, should we proceed to court-martial, but do you have a statement for us now?”

David lowered his head for a moment then stood up beside his counsel. He had rehearsed repeatedly what he was about to say, but nerves still ran away with him. “Thank you, sir. I do. The initial portion of the engagement in Sector 17A was a complete success for the Coalition Defense Force ships on site. When the League’s reinforcements—a Rand-class heavy cruiser—jumped in, the direction of the battle quickly tilted against us. There were no good options. We could have fled and left the damaged ships and the transports to their fate. I could have continued to engage the Rand with conventional tactics, which both at the time and standing here today with the benefit of hindsight, I believe would have resulted in the destruction of our entire force. I elected to do something unorthodox. When faced with a decision between allowing thousands of civilians to die and taking out the final enemy ship, I chose saving the innocent lives we’re all sworn to protect. I consider what I did to have been the right decision. I fulfilled my duty. If I were in a similar situation again one day, I’d do the same thing.”

A third general spoke with a noticeable Scottish brogue—Andrew MacIntosh, whom David recognized from news reports as the leader of the Victory Project. He was surprised to see him. “Even if it means we proceed to court-martial, young man?”

“Even then, sir.”

Barton stepped forward, practically shouting at David. “What about the dead crew? What do you have to say about getting seventy-eight of your subordinates killed when you were replaying your father’s last run? Seventy-eight of them, Major. At least your father had the good sense to order his crew to safety! There are seventy-eight people who will never see their families again so you could hot-rod into the side of a League frigate and have a good drinking story!”

Barton’s words stung David deeply. It felt as if he had been punched in the gut with every reiteration of the number of fatalities. This man has no idea who I am, what I believe in, or why I fight. Screw him. David turned toward him, his face warm with anger.

“With all due respect, sir, I am not my father, and what I did was in an entirely different situation. I am sorry that so many of my crew died. I am sorry that so many of our people are dying every day. I am sorry that we are at war and that I was placed in this position. I am sorry that every day we fight, I am forced to kill people and that people under my command die in practically every battle. Each decision I make, I weigh against the risk and the cost, but I am not sorry for what I did.”

David took a breath. “Had I retreated, had I stood down or attempted to engage Master Eight with my remaining weapons, thirty thousand innocent people would have died in addition to the numerous military casualties. I took an oath. Every single member of my crew took an oath. You took an oath, sir, to defend our countries—to defend the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That oath includes protecting our civilians with our lives. That’s what we did. We did our job. I did my job.”

MacIntosh raised an eyebrow at the forcefulness of David’s statements, while Barton looked ready to start a fistfight.

“Well then,” Andrews said as she picked up her personal tablet. “We’ve heard your statement, Major, and we’ll consider it while we deliberate the statements and evidence presented to us today. You are dismissed. Remain in the waiting room.”

Gray pointed at the door with a pained expression, indicating for David to go first. As they walked out, Gray whispered in his ear, “You’ve got more guts than brains, Cohen.”

As the door closed behind them, they joined Ruth and Sheila on a bench in the hallway. Hanson remained standing.

“How’s it look?” Ruth asked with a worried look on her face.

“It could go either way,” David replied.

“Tell me something,” Gray said. “What’s it really like out there? I only served for a year on a ship, and we never saw combat. I’ve been a lawyer pretty much my entire time in the service.”

“Major, if you want to know what the battle was like, I can put it this way. Living out there on the border leads to boredom and anxiety broken up by moments of terror. And that’s what battle is. Terror. You can try to ignore it or overcome it, but you’ll never escape it. It’s bad enough for ordinary crew members who are powerless to do anything but follow orders and hope to come out alive. Being a commanding officer is worse. It means you actually have some power to try to avoid dying with the responsibility to do what has to be done to win the battle, no matter whose life is lost.”

Ruth gave David a sympathetic look.

Gray was speechless for a moment. “If that’s what it’s like,” he said finally, “why do you keep doing this?”

“Because someone’s got to do it, and for whatever reason, we’re good at it. I wish to God we weren’t. Killing shouldn’t be this easy, but our job is to keep everyone else behind the lines safe. We’ll do it with every last ounce of devotion we have, Major.”

* * *

MacIntosh guided the controls of the holo-simulation and paused on the frame that showed the Rand-class heavy cruiser exploding. Staring directly at Barton, he said, “If you look at the battle as a whole, this officer is clearly a fine young commander. He’s resourceful and applies the things he’s learned in his career. With that resourcefulness and ingenuity, he did something I thought I’d never see—a tin can destroying a heavy cruiser and living to tell the tale.”

“He got seventy-eight members of his crew killed,” Barton said. “And he tried to get every single one of them killed.”

MacIntosh replied immediately, “What was he supposed to do? Just sit and let the League ships finish him and his division off?” He picked up his computing device and waved it at Barton. “Colonel Meier believes the ramming maneuver won the battle and saved thirty thousand civilian lives.”

“So he did it at a good time. Look at the man’s history. First, his performance reviews say he’s not staying in the service, and next ones say he’s a career officer? He wants to be a hero. He wants to be his father.” Barton’s voice dripped contempt. “He wants to go out in a blaze of glory, regardless of the cost. Why else would his first choice in this scenario be to ram another ship?”

“Ramming is not always a fatal maneuver, General Barton. Otherwise, we’d not be considering a court-martial right now,” Andrews replied, conveying her increasing frustration with Barton’s histrionics. “It does appear that Major Cohen’s maneuver, while unorthodox and exceptionally risky, was quite justified by the results of the action.”

“I don’t believe this.” Barton’s voice grew higher pitched. He must have realized he’d lost the argument. “Am I the only one to see that this man has a death wish? At the very least, we need to take him out of a command position.”

“I can understand that,” one of the other generals said. “Maybe it’s best if we have him assigned to the officer academies. He does have solid front experience and could offer a lot to our command students.”

“At his age? He can do far better out on the front,” MacIntosh said. “And as soon as we get this matter out of the way, presuming a court-martial is not ordered, I intend to offer him a posting with my command as a CO.”

The rest of the generals on the review board gave him curious looks.

“You can’t be serious!” Barton thundered. “You really do want to let this man cost us the war!”

“Given remarks you’ve made to us at times, General Barton, you’re not one to fling about defeatism accusations,” MacIntosh said levelly. “My command needs a young officer with a lot of ingenuity.”

“But he never went to command school,” the other general said. “He’s only commanded destroyers. The closest he’s come to commanding a capital ship was an XO posting on an escort carrier.”

“There are no better suitable commanders available as of now. I am certain of that.”

“This subject isn’t a part of our intended deliberation,” Andrews said testily. “The issue of General MacIntosh’s Victory Project is for him to decide, with input from the general command staff and the defense ministry. Are there any further deliberations as to whether we recommend court-martial?”

“None, ma’am,” MacIntosh said.

The rest of the board nodded slowly.

“Well, then, it is time we come to our decision.”

* * *

As David, Gray, and the rest of David’s senior staff stood around, the door to the boardroom opened wide, and a yeoman poked his head out. “Sirs, the board has asked for you to return.”

Gray nodded curtly. “Thank you, Corporal.” Gesturing to the door, he signaled for David to go in first. “That was a bit quicker than I expected,” he said. “Let’s go see what the decision is.”

Sheila put a reassuring hand on David’s shoulder as he stepped away.

He smiled back at her. “It’ll be okay… whatever happens. God has some kind of plan. We’ve just got to stay on it.”

She smiled back as David and Gray both walked into the room.

David and Gray once again walked to the defense table and took their respective seats.

The corporal from before stepped forward. “All rise! This review board is now in session regarding the actions of Major David Cohen in the Battle of Sector 17A.”

David and Gray stood at attention behind the table, waiting for the generals to walk in.

After they all filed in and took their seats, General Andrews once again spoke for the assembled board. “You may be seated. This review panel is now in session.”

General Andrews waited for a moment, causing anticipation to build within David. “After deliberating the details of the action on the sixteenth of August, the Special Review Board has determined that the facts do not warrant proceeding to court-martial. That is all. This panel is now in recess.”

David shook Gray’s hand warmly. “Major, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Just doing my job, Major. Now you get out there and keep doing yours.”

David smiled widely. “Will do.”

As they talked, the corporal who’d served as the yeoman for the board approached. “Sirs, General MacIntosh requests your presence in his office as soon as possible, Major Cohen.”

David nodded and turned to Major Gray. “Please tell my crew I’ll be out to see them later. And thank you again, Major,” he said as he turned to leave with the corporal.

10

David walked through a seemingly endless labyrinth of hallways, cubicle farms, and workspaces in the administration section of the Canaan Space Dock. After a few aborted attempts at small talk, he gave up trying to have a deeper conversation with the corporal. Clearly, the young man had other things on his mind, and David wasn’t going to force him to talk.

Finally, after a fifteen-minute brisk walk, they arrived at a door with the name General Andrew MacIntosh - Project Director (Victory) on the side. The corporal pressed the buzzer on the door then opened it and gestured for David to enter.

“Good day, sir, and good luck out there,” he said and walked away.

A woman seated behind a desk in the front vestibule stood. A nameplate on her desk read Major Melanie Roberts, and he figured she must be the general’s adjutant. “Ah, Major Cohen. General MacIntosh has been expecting you. Please, follow me.” He fell in behind her, sizing up her cheerful demeanor. Those sorts of positions could be a natural stepping stone in someone’s career, as serving as an aide to a politically connected flag officer could come in handy at the next review cycle.

David entered the general’s office and braced to attention in front of the desk. “Major David Cohen reporting as ordered, sir.”

MacIntosh nodded. “At ease, Major. Thank you for showing him in,” he said to his aide.

Roberts departed the room.

“Major, I hope the wait wasn’t too long while we deliberated.”

“Not at all, sir. I’m just happy I was cleared, and I hope I can rejoin the fight with the rest of my crew.”

MacIntosh gestured at a seat in front of the desk. “You may sit, Major. David Cohen, or do you prefer David ben-Levi Cohen?” he asked, looking briefly at a small tablet in front of him.

“The first is fine, sir.” Okay, why am I here for a personal discussion with a four-star? They’d don’t acknowledge guys like me exist.

MacIntosh returned his gaze to the tablet. “Your father was Levi Cohen, the commander of the Salamis. Old destroyer, even when he took it out the last time, fit mostly for a mix of inexperienced crew and officers with old reservists.” He leaned back in his chair. “I was at that battle as a staff officer under General Irvine. I saw your father’s dying ship plow into the League flagship at full burn. It was the damnedest thing. An active career officer, and I saw a retiring reservist commander save Canaan.”

“Yes, sir.” David said, his voice taut.

MacIntosh’s eyes seemed to bore into David’s skull. “You’re prepared to make that kind of sacrifice?”

David nodded, and for a moment thought back to his father returning his salute in the front yard the night he flew off, never to return, the night before his birthday. “Yes, sir, if I have to. But only if I have to. My duty extends to my crew and not to waste their lives in pointless sacrifices.”

“Well, Major, I’m going to give you an opportunity that no officer has ever been offered. I’m going to do it because I think you’re the right man for the job, and it’s up to you to prove me right.”

David’s mind continued to race with the possibilities. “What’s the post, sir?”

MacIntosh grinned, walked over to the side of the room, and raised a curtain, displaying an adjacent docking slip.

“This.”

David got up and walked over to the window, looking out in awe at the massive ship in the slip. It was an old British Royal Navy dreadnought—the HMS Lion, only she didn’t appear to be an old ship any longer. Hundreds of small craft and workers in space suits surrounded her hull, and the superstructure had been radically changed from the last picture he had seen. There appeared to be new weapons emplacements, hangar bays, and an interesting structure amidships that he had no idea what it did. He turned toward MacIntosh, mouth agape and eyes widened in shock. “I… I don’t understand, sir. Do you want me to serve on that ship?”

MacIntosh shook his head. “No, son. I want you to command her. The CSV Lion of Judah. Our latest and greatest technological achievement.”

David took a step back, shocked by his words. Doubts ran through his head. After all, he had just managed to win a battle by the skin of his teeth and lost many members of his crew in the process. I don’t think I can do this. Could I keep my crew safe? That thing has to have thousands of souls on it. He shook his head slowly. “Sir, with all due respect, I… I don’t think that I have the command experience to run this ship.”

MacIntosh turned back around to stare at David. “Few men below flag rank do these days, Mr. Cohen. It’s been too long since we started moving toward the lighter, carrier-centric fleet. Back then, we had advantages we thought could let us win the war without bankrupting the Coalition. Instead, we just ended up buying time.” MacIntosh walked back toward his desk. “Our carriers destroy an invading task force, and they send two to take its place. One of our units is slightly out of position, and they jump in and invade a world that takes years and hundreds of thousands of lives to regain. Sometimes millions.”

“Freiderwelt.” Seeing MacIntosh’s expression, David added, “Lieutenant Goldberg was raised there. Lost her parents when she was sixteen.”

“I see.” MacIntosh gestured toward the window again. “Without ships like her back on the front, I don’t know if we’ll ever have the raw firepower to deal with the League.”

David raised an eyebrow. “An old capital-line ship? She’s got to be at least twenty years out of date.”

MacIntosh offered David a small smile. “She’s not the same ship anymore, Major, with all we’ve done to her. The largest magnetic cannons mounted on any ship in the fleet. The most up-to-date electronics systems, our longest-range engines, the toughest armor, and the strongest shield generators.”

David began to raise the objections he had heard throughout his career in regard to why the CDF used swarms of smaller ships as opposed to large battlewagons. “Twelve or so reactors that demand constant attention and even one going down leaves you stranded?”

“Four reactors, actually, and unless the main one goes down, you’re still more than combat capable,” MacIntosh said with a hint of satisfaction.

David raised his eyebrows and scrunched his nose in surprise.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Sir, I know of no fusion reactor that powerful...” David saw the expression on MacIntosh’s face. “General?”

“Who said anything about fusion?” MacIntosh tapped a stylus on a tablet, indicating it was their next item of business. The document displayed on the tablet, a nondisclosure agreement, was the kind necessary to get access to highly classified materials that were considered special compartmentalized information.

“Are you in, Major?” MacIntosh asked.

David’s mind raced. One half of his brain thought he could command the ship and do it well, but the other half wondered, But what if I screw up? He pushed the thought aside.

“If this goes through, can I have my senior crew?”

“As officers on the crew?”

“Not just as officers but as my senior crew.”

Seeing MacIntosh’s negative reaction, David said, “Sir, First Lieutenant Goldberg’s record as a tactical action officer puts her high on the fleet bell curve. Captain Hansen transferred to field operations after serving as a military engineer on an advanced reactor design team, so if you’ve got some fancy new power source for the ship, he’s a good pick for someone who can operate it. And as for Captain Thompson, she does know how to keep a leash on my getting too inventive.”

For a moment, MacIntosh didn’t respond, clearly pondering David’s arguments.

David held his breath.

“Well, I’ll give their records a final once-over and see if they’re willing to sign on, but I’m not making promises as to their final assignments. To be frank, on the matter of Captain Thompson, even if promoted, she will not be your XO. She will be permitted to be a senior watch officer and navigation officer only. Take it or leave it at that, Major.”

After a slight hesitation, David nodded and picked up the stylus to sign the form. When he finished, he put the stylus down to find MacIntosh’s hand extended. He took it, and they shook hands firmly.

“Welcome aboard, Major.” MacIntosh grinned. “Although Colonel may be more appropriate now, at least as soon as you’re cleared and permitted to formally join the project. I should have an answer soon. When there is one, you’ll be getting a call, assuming you will be staying planet-side.”

“I was going to visit my mother this evening. She’s the only family I have left,” David answered. “The contact numbers for my private cell and my mother’s home are in my personnel file.”

“Of course. I’ll be seeing you soon, Major. Dismissed.”

David braced to attention then walked out of the room, his mind whirling with excitement at what he had gotten himself into.

11

David sat aboard his helicar for the forty-five-minute autopiloted flight to his mother’s home. He pulled out his specialized secure tablet, opened the file from General MacIntosh containing the Lion’s technical specifications, and read the ship’s high-level operating manual. Many hundreds of billions of credits had been spent on the technologies that went into the Lion’s defensive systems, offensive weaponry, and support systems. To begin with, the ship had a power plant that rivaled a smaller planet’s power grid. At full power, the antimatter reactor system could put out more power than the fusion reactors of fifty destroyers. CDF engineers had then scaled up the engines, shields, and weapons already in existence to match the power output supplied by the new reactor.

Interrupting David’s reading, the video communication program on his tablet flashed. He moved his finger over to the icon, and it showed that Lieutenant General Benson Pipes was calling him. General Pipes? I haven’t heard from him in a couple of years. They had kept in touch as much as the war would allow after David completed OCS. I’ve gotten some of the best advice I’ve ever received from him. I wonder what’s going on.

David pressed a button on the screen, and General Pipes’s smiling face appeared on his tablet. “David, can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” David said with a wide smile.

“Go for secure.”

David entered his personal identification number and fingerprint into the tablet. “Secure mode engaged, sir.”

“I understand you’ve been offered command of the CSV Lion of Judah.”

I thought that was classified. “Uh, yes, sir.”

General Pipes laughed. “Don’t worry, David. I’m cleared. General MacIntosh spent a good while discussing your abilities with me. I want you to know how proud I am of you, son. You’ve really taken off.”

The way General Pipes said that made David wonder what his father would have said. He would’ve been proud.

“Thank you, sir. Much of that is thanks to your good counsel.”

“You’re a smart kid. You would’ve figured it out.”

David smiled. “But I didn’t have to make as many mistakes because of your advice.”

“Well, thank you for that, David. Seems like they’ve given you a big ship.”

“Beyond big. The biggest ship in the CDF. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s got ten three-barreled magnetic-cannon turrets, and since each one is five hundred millimeters in diameter, this thing can throw more projectiles than any ship in the fleet. The ship also has four particle cannons that are spinal-mounted, pointing dead center forward too. Testing suggests that those weapons can go in one side of a League capital ship and out the other.”

“That’s a lot of firepower.”

“To say nothing of its secondary energy weapon armament, our standard neutron beams, only because of the reactor attached to this thing. They’re far stronger than anything you or I have previously used in combat. There are missile cells, massive amounts of point defense…”

“Highly augmented shields powered by the antimatter reactor give it a higher protection rating than anything in the fleet. I reviewed the tests earlier today. What’s its downside, David? Remember that everything has a downside.”

“Typically, a military vessel tries to do one role really well. This ship tries to do all roles well. It’s got hangar space and launching ability for one hundred eighty combat spacecraft, and it also holds a Marine expeditionary unit.”

“And in trying to do everything, it might do none of them to the degree we’d like to see,” General Pipes concluded.

“Exactly, sir. But still, it’s an incredible feat of engineering. You know engineers… always trying to build a better mousetrap.”

“The good news is they built one. Now we need a commanding officer for her that can make use of this hodgepodge of a ship design and take the fight to the League. Have you decided whether you’re going to accept?”

“I signed, sir, but I’m concerned I’ll be in over my head.”

“Wrong answer, son. I’ve known from the moment I met you that you would go on to do some great things. This is your time. This is your calling. Take command of this ship, make it into the weapon it can be, and use it to help defeat the League. Anything else is not acceptable.”

David sat back. General Pipes’s words were said with kindness, but they were direct. “I’m not sure if I’m ready, sir. That ship is… It’s all the marbles.”

“If we wait until we’re ready for something, we’ll never do it. You may not be completely ready for this kind of command. But you’ll figure it out. I’ve seen you do it time and again.”

David nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Give my regards to your mother. Godspeed, David.”

“Godspeed, sir.”

The link cut out, leaving David alone with his thoughts for the final few minutes of his flight.

* * *

David’s helicar set down just outside the capital, in the driveway of his mother’s small suburban home. He’d grown up in that house. Though he’d offered to help his mother move many times, she clung to their residence and to the memories of Levi contained within it.

The driver’s-side door opened automatically, and he got out. Visits to his mother’s home were usually bittersweet. Her concern about his well-being was always foremost on her mind along with inquiries about him settling down and having a family. David’s mother wanted grandchildren, but he had no interest in marrying and starting a family while the war was on. Not that he’d never been in love, but a lifetime of wondering if the person he loved was going to come back from a patrol alive or wondering if he would return to find that they had left him had caused him to table the matter until he found himself at peace with the universe and no longer having to go off to fight a war.

He walked up to the front door, and the automated security cameras notified his mother of his arrival.

Flinging the door open, she said, “David! Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

They embraced, and she stepped back, wearing a smile. “Vidlinks are great, but nothing is quite the same as seeing you in person.”

David winced at his mother’s choice of words, knowing he rarely visited her. “You know how it is, Mom. We’re on patrol for two straight years. I’m only home because of…” He didn’t want to tell his mother how close he’d come to death. “Of that battle.”

“Come sit down,” she said.

He followed her into the living room. It hadn’t changed much from the last time he visited. A picture of the three of them was displayed on the mantel along with a few from his childhood. His mother had not changed the décor in her home in more than thirty years. While he wasn’t quite sure why, she seemed quite happy, and that was what mattered. David went to great lengths to make sure that his mother didn’t want for anything, sending her a good bit of his salary, since he only maintained a temporary apartment planet-side when he came home from deployment.

“They talked about you on the news.”

“Ah, I wasn’t aware I’d made it to the news,” he said, trying to get her smile to return.

“David, they said you won the battle by ramming another ship.” She gave him an unmistakable look of concern.

“It was the only way left to defeat the enemy, Mom.”

Sarah nodded. “I worry about you so much.”

David fought back emotions. “I know, Mom. But I survived. Too many of those who served under me didn’t, but I did.”

She stared at him. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself when people die under your command,” she said in a rehash of conversations they’d had many times.

“Are you sure you’re not a CDF counselor, Mom? Because they tell me the same stuff every time,” he said with a laugh, trying to brush it off.

“You know, everyone in the neighborhood is talking about it. Frances Weiss said you reminded her of your father.”

That struck a nerve with David. He sat back a little more heavily and glanced up at the picture of the three of them, which had been taken on that fateful night twenty-seven years ago. “But I came back, Mom. He didn’t.”

She looked down for a moment and changed the subject. “How did your hearing go?”

David perked up at the mention of the hearing. “I was cleared. General MacIntosh is offering me a new posting with his command.”

His mother’s expression lightened a bit.

The Victory Project, or “VP,” had been leaked to the news media several years before. Occasionally, something else would leak about it, detailing how the CDF was working on some new weapon or technology. The point had been to keep morale up, but some were not sure it had succeeded. Every few years, the League started a new spring offensive and tried to drive farther into Terran Coalition space. Most of the time, the CDF beat them back, but they took losses in every battle. The entire war had turned into a vast war of attrition.

“The Victory Project? Oh, that sounds wonderful. If you’re getting a posting there, will you be getting more time away from the front?” his mother asked, hope lacing her voice. She wanted him off the firing line.

“I don’t think so,” David said.

Immediately, her eyes dropped, and a frown formed before she quickly covered it up. It made him feel guilty for continuing in his career.

“You know how things are. I won’t even know what I’m doing for them for a few weeks.” Not exactly the truth but better than her worrying herself to death.

“Oh, of course,” Sarah said, still clearly worried. “Well, can you stay for dinner?”

David smiled. “I’d love to.” He always looked forward to his mother’s cooking.

* * *

The following day, David waited outside MacIntosh’s office fifteen minutes before he was due for his appointment. As the seconds ticked down, he rehashed the thoughts that had been running through his head for nearly the last eighteen hours. On one hand, he had confidence in his abilities. They were tried and tested. On the other, he was continually haunted by the losses of his crewmates. In the days after ramming the frigate, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing their faces flash in front of him. They invaded his dreams, turning them into nightmares each night. In a mandatory follow-up with a CDF psychologist, he had refrained from saying anything about the images, but he knew he was suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. David was just far too stubborn to admit it.

Major Roberts walked out of MacIntosh’s office. “Major, the general will see you now,” she announced formally. As David nodded to her and began to walk by, she added, “Good luck. He’s been looking for the right person for this job for many months. I hope for all our sakes that you’re up to the task.”

“Thank you, Major. I do too,” he said, still not quite sure he was the right man.

He went through the open doors and into the office that lay beyond.

“Major, come in,” the large Scotsman said. “Or should I say Colonel?” His face broke into a smile. “We’ll have a formal promotion ceremony later as well as a christening of the Lion of Judah once we’re sure she’s ready for primetime.”

David grinned as MacIntosh handed him a small case with rank insignia. David snapped it open to find two gold birds—the rank insignia for a colonel. How about that—full bird. I’ve got to be the first Cohen in a few generations to get a set of those.

MacIntosh strode from behind his desk. “Allow me.” He removed David’s existing insignia from his uniform with a minimum of fuss and attached the new ones. “Congratulations, Colonel. I’m certain you’ll justify my faith in your ability to command this ship.” With that, he walked back to his chair and sat down.

David took his place in one of the seats before the desk.

“I expect to have clearance for your department heading officers in the next day or two. For now, I want you to meet me on board this afternoon at fourteen hundred hours. I’m going to introduce you to Dr. Hayworth and break down the schedule for a space trial. I’m hoping to have her underway for the trial within the next two weeks.”

David nodded. “Aye, aye, sir. The Dr. Hayworth?”

MacIntosh smirked. “Yes, the Dr. Hayworth.”

David raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about the guy who gets on the holonets and says anyone who believes in a God is a fool? He deliberately insults everyone of faith—Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus… all of us. About the only thing I’ve got in common with him is my disgust for the League.”

“Yes, I realize putting an atheist together with an Orthodox Jew might be problematic, but he’s the best we’ve got. His ego and condescension notwithstanding, I expect you to work with him. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”

David set his jaw. “Crystal, sir.”

“I suggest you simply stay away from religion.”

“I don’t push my viewpoint on anyone, sir.”

“I know you don’t. But he does. It’ll be up to you to be the bigger man. I need his skills—and yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

MacIntosh scanned his schedule. “Excellent, Colonel. I’m moving on to my next meeting. You’re dismissed.”

12

Sheila stood over her ex-husband’s small, squat gravestone in a military cemetery on Canaan. Thinking over the days she’d spent with Curtis, she reflected on how her life had changed over the years. When she heard a rustling behind her, she turned and saw David approaching with a smile.

“I pinged your comm. It said you were here,” David said.

“I feel like I owe him visit at least once a year.”

“I understand.”

Is that regret in your voice, David? All you would’ve had to do is ask me to go on a date.

“Even though it didn’t work out between us, I still loved him. God, it hurt when his sister told me he’d died in action.”

David nodded, looking down. “So many we’ve laid into the ground.”

“Too many.”

“MacIntosh offered me a new command.”

“Oh? Do we get another destroyer?”

David smiled and shook his head. “No.” He paused. “A battleship. Something new. Big.”

Sheila’s jaw dropped as she shook her head. “So you ram a League ship, and you get command of a battleship? Maybe if you ram that into something, they’ll give you a carrier.” At the sight of the dark look that crossed David’s face, she apologized. “Too soon?”

“Far too soon.”

Sheila put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. You know how I deal with pain.”

David squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to consider whether I’m the right man for the job.”

Sheila’s gaze bored into David’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t you be?” You’re the finest commander I’ve ever seen.

“I’ve never held more than the XO position on a capital ship—”

“Oh no, Major Cohen. Don’t you start that with me. You know how to lead. You can lead anyone or anything and cause the group to be far more capable than the sum of its parts. Whatever this new ship is, it might be a challenge, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

David smiled. “I’m going to have to find a way to keep you around. Talking to you is far better than talking to a counselor.”

Sheila laughed. “Well, if you need an XO…”

David frowned. “General MacIntosh refused to let me have you as the XO, but he did allow me to bring you on, if you want to, as a senior watch officer and the ship’s navigator.”

Sheila nodded thoughtfully and paused before answering. “Well, if that’s all he’ll allow, that’s what I’ll do. I do love flying ships, you know.” She would do almost any job requested of her to serve on the same ship as David.

His smile brightened. “Well, great. I’ll let the general know.”

“Got any plans for tonight?” she asked.

“None. I had dinner with my mother last night, and most of my friends are off-world on patrol.”

“Care to join me, then? There’s a new restaurant that’s serving Turkish kabobs. I’ve been wanting to try it since our last patrol.”

David smiled. “Of course. What time?”

“Seven p.m. works for me.”

“I’ll see you then,” David said and walked away.

Watching him go, Sheila shook her head and wondered what she was going to have to do to get him to realize her feelings toward him. Men, she thought, snorting. I’ll just have to draw him a picture one of these days. Grinning, she walked back to her helicar.

* * *

Hanson sat in a small bar—a dive, really—called the Ready Room outside the base gates. Though the name was obviously an attempt to be cute and attract pilots, Hanson didn’t care. He only wanted a place to have a drink and try to forget about the events of the last week. Sitting at a table in the back of the bar, he slowly nursed a small glass of A.E. Dor, his favorite brandy. The barkeep walked up, and Hanson held out his credit chit. Without saying a word, the barkeep slipped it under the bar and into a scanner to initiate payment.

“The same?” he asked.

Hanson nodded.

“So, why so glum? They turn you down for a promotion?”

Hanson looked up. “Lost my ship.”

“Ah, well... at least you survived, right?”

Hanson responded with a blank stare and sad eyes, which prompted the barkeep to walk off after setting down the new drink.

A tone came from Hanson’s personal communicator, and when he saw David’s name, he brought up the screen. Slightly buzzed, he shook his head and hoped he didn’t regret it. Hanson set his drink down and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hanson here, sir.”

“We got another ship.”

Hanson blinked. “Really? Cool.”

“How about another posting as my chief engineer?” David asked.

Hanson’s eyes widened. He had thought they would all be busted back to Second Lieutenant over the Rabin. “That’d be awesome, sir.”

“Great. I’ll get you cleared for the program. We’ll talk soon.”

“Yes, sir. Let me know.”

Hanson hung up the communicator and returned to his drink, but a small smile crept across his lips.

13

Major Hassan Amir glanced at yet another systems report while waiting in the cockpit of his space superiority fighter aboard the CSV Pat Tillman. His HUD showed there were another nineteen minutes to noon prayers. I’m so bored that I’m counting down the minutes to pray. He was the Carrier Air Wing Commander, also known as the Carrier Air Group—or CAG—hundreds of years ago in the wet navies of the United States and Great Britain. The title was something that, even after many years, hadn’t changed in the military along with such things as doing paperwork in triplicate or hazing of the newbies. Amir’s squadron, the 85th Space Fighter Squadron of CDF Space Combat Command, was known as the Grim Reapers or the Reapers for short.

The entire air wing of the Tillman was at ready five status. They were strapped into their fighters and ready to launch as soon as the Tillman entered the engagement area. Amir had been in his cockpit for the better part of two hours, and the sheer boredom killed him. “Reaper One to Tiger One,” he said into his comm unit.

His deputy air wing commander, Captain Rebecca Tulleny, answered him in her clipped British accent. “Tiger One here.”

Amir keyed his mic again. “I’m bored to tears and in need of a bio break,” he said with a snort.

“We’re in fully enclosed suits for a reason, Major. Just let it out,” Tulleny said with forced cheerfulness.

The commanding officer of the Tillman, Colonel Patrick Forrester, cut in. “Attention, Air Wing. We have arrived within the battle zone and have confirmed over one hundred bandits. I say again, over one hundred bandits. All fighters, launch! Launch! Launch!”

Amir keyed his mic and turned the channel to the air boss, the officer responsible for overall flight operations once the commanding officer gave the order to launch. “Boss, request permission to launch.”

After a brief pause, her response was broadcast to all channels. “This is the boss. Fighters, launch by squadron. Reapers first.”

As he was the first in line, Amir turned up his throttle and punched maximum thrust. He felt the g-forces through his harness, even though his entire flight suit and the cockpit were designed to minimize all g-force discomfort. The thrusters on CDF fighters could push fifteen Gs, or fifteen times the force of one earth gravity, which, without the specialized flight suit harness and inertial damping system, would kill a normal human almost instantly. The fighter raced out the side of the carrier, followed by dozens of others—six squadrons consisting of space-superiority fighters, a squadron of bombers, and interceptors explicitly designed to engage enemy fighters and bombers.

Amir waited for his unit to get into space and ticked down the seconds as the flight of CDF fighters known as the SF-106 Phantoms ran through all safety checks for vacuum operation. As soon as his onboard computer system showed green for his squadron, he keyed his mic. “This is the CAG. Reapers, echelon formation. We’re going to perform close escort for our heavies. Fighter squadrons, engage the bandits.”

Amir’s communications system lit up with green acknowledgment messages from all fighters in the air group. Inside the specialized HUD of his fighter, he could mentally call up information on any squadron and its status from the CDF tactical network.

Colonel Forrester’s voice cut into Amir’s communications net. “Major, I’m tasking your bomber squadron to engage Master Seven, the League carrier on station. Most of its fighter resources are committed, and our capital ships have degraded its escorts. We won’t get a better chance to end this siege.”

Amir keyed his mic. “Wilco, Colonel.”

He switched channels back to the tactical net. “All right, Reapers, you heard the man. Intercept vector on Master Seven. We’ll form a sphere around our bombers and guide them in. Weapons free.” The weapons-free order allowed all the fighters in his area of operations to engage all hostile and unidentified contacts without requesting permission to fire, as opposed to a weapons-tight ROE, or rules of engagement status.

It took several minutes for the fleet of CDF fighters to reach the enemy carrier. Amir analyzed his sensor readings, which were compiled from all of the CDF ships and small craft in the area. He quickly realized that at least two squadrons of League interceptors had been sent toward his squadron and the bombers. He also noted that no fewer than eight squadrons rushed toward the rest of his fighters. Amir focused on the hostiles heading toward him. The rest were in the hands of his pilots, whom he trusted to perform at the most exacting of standards.

“This is Reaper One. Tally ho, ten degrees port, fifteen degrees elevation, two squadrons enemy fighters,” Amir announced. “Stand by for maximum range and obtain a strong lock.”

Standard CDF fighter doctrine was to engage with active tracked LIDAR missiles from the forward arc and to use heat-seeking missiles when on an enemy’s rear or “six.”

The missile tone filled Amir’s fighter as he made a positive weapon lock on one of the interceptors racing toward his flight. “Reaper One, fox three,” he said calmly as he pulled the missile-launch trigger on his flight stick.

Similar announcements from other fighters in his squadron filled the communications channel. Missiles raced from both sides, and electronic countermeasure systems, or ECM, jammed many of them before they could hit their intended targets, causing small explosions all over the battlespace. Several from the CDF side hit, and three League interceptor icons blinked out, indicating hard kills. At the same time, one of his own fighter icons blinked out. Amir silently prayed that the pilot had been able to eject in time.

“Hostiles engaged, Tillman. Reapers, break right and maintain covering fire for our bombers.” Amir angled his fighter downward, aiming for another League interceptor. As he started the process of locking a missile on the inceptor in his sights, warning tones sounded in his cockpit. His fighter had become the target.

“Reaper One, you’ve got one on your tail,” one of his wingmen said. “I’m moving to cover you.”

Amir angled his fighter in a high-speed turn, trying to outmaneuver the enemy craft.

“Reaper Six, guns, guns, guns,” his wingman called, indicating that he was engaging the League craft with the small neutron cannons mounted in his fuselage. Their firepower didn’t compare to the larger versions fielded by CDF capital ships, but they packed more than enough punch to deal with fighter-sized targets. After a couple of misses, the barrage of neutron cannon fire destroyed the League interceptor.

“Thank you, Six,” Amir said.

He quickly scanned his threat display and locked on to the nearest fighter. Matching the League craft turn for turn, he gained optimum vector for a heat-seeker launch and announced, “Reaper One, fox two,” as he pulled the missile trigger.

During the time Amir’s fighter squadron was engaging the League interceptor squadrons, the bombers had closed in on their target enough to fire anti-ship missiles at the League carrier.

The lead bomber’s pilot called, “Keep these bandits off us for just a few moments longer, Reapers.”

The bomber squadrons let loose multiple waves of anti-ship missiles. As soon as the last warhead was away, they turned back toward the Tillman and executed a maximum-thrust burn. Between the remaining League interceptors and point-defense systems on the League’s carrier, most of the missiles were destroyed before impact. Three made their way through to their target, causing additional explosions to blossom over several areas of the League carrier, telltale signs of secondary damage to fuel bunkers and munitions. Despite the damage, the carrier was still very much in the fight.

Then something strange happened—the League fighters still in the battlespace streamed back to the hangars of their carrier, and the enemy ships throughout the area jumped out, disengaging from the fight.

As the carrier faded from view, chatter filled the communications network. “League ships are breaking off combat. They’re retreating!” someone Amir didn’t recognize called.

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Amir deadpanned.

“I’ve never seen the League run away from a fight like this before,” Tulleny added.

“The will of Allah can be mysterious.” After keying his mic to the channel for all squadrons attached to the Tillman, Amir announced, “All squadrons, return to home plate.”

14

MacIntosh and David stepped through the hatch into a large training room aboard the Lion of Judah. An electronic sign on the door read “Antimatter Reactor Briefing in Progress, led by Dr. Benjamin Hayworth, Advanced Reactor Consultant—Victory Project.”

David and MacIntosh stood at the back of the very full room, taking in the view of dozens of CDF officers, contractors, and academics observing the briefing, drawing a glare from Hayworth, as they’d arrived late.

Hayworth paused, seemingly to ensure everyone knew they’d walked in, before continuing his presentation. “As you see, the process of antimatter or matter annihilation provides a much-higher level of energy than any fusion reactor system. Although the quantities of antimatter fuel available are low, the potential for this technology to revolutionize power generation in starships is extremely promising. Our latest advancements—some of which are classified, I must remind you—would also increase the safety of this volatile fuel source in all stages: generation, storage, transport, and use, making this technology highly economical for the power it generates.”

A major wearing the insignia of an engineering duty officer spoke up. “Doctor, what about Dr. Gossel’s advancements regarding the mining of the hydrogen reserves of gas giants? Don’t they provide an excellent fuel source for starships as well?”

Hayworth leveled a withering stare at the offending questioner. “Dr. Gossel underestimates the difficulty in extracting such resources with our current generation of starships. Nor does his concept promise to relieve the need for massive, uneconomical numbers of fusion reactors in large-scale starships, unlike antimatter reactors.”

A young woman in civilian attire spoke next. “How safe are negmatter reactors?” she asked brightly, very much engaged in Hayworth’s presentation.

As soon as the word negmatter left her mouth, Hayworth scowled. “‘Negmatter?’ Young lady, if I hear you utter that term again, I’m going to speak to a supply officer about procuring a dunce hat for your use! Negmatter is a horribly unscientific, ridiculous term, and I shan’t have it bandied about within earshot. It doesn’t even deserve the dignity of being considered a layman’s term for antimatter.” Grumbling, Hayworth collected himself. “As for your question, as safe as any technology using altered matter that annihilates its exact opposite can get. But it’s no more dangerous in practical terms than any standard fusion reactor or, more accurately, an old-style fossil-burning sea ship.”

David whispered to MacIntosh, “Quite a piece of work. And he’s my chief engineer?”

Smirking, MacIntosh replied, “Chief engineering consultant. Hayworth’s the only man in the Coalition with hands-on experience with this technology. Unfortunately, that means you’ll have to put up with that infamous ego of his.”

“Dr. Hayworth.” An older man in the middle of the crowd stood and waved. “I’ve followed your accomplishments in this field with great interest. To finally see this technology—”

“Get on with it,” Hayworth said.

“Ah, well, uh, Doctor… what about the destructive potential of antimatter? Can you see it being adapted to create better warheads for our missiles?”

“I don’t create weapons. Next!”

Another man stood. “Doctor, given the cost of creating antimatter in meaningful quantities, how can we ever expect to get this technology out to the entire fleet? Wouldn’t it be better to focus our energy on more refined fusion reactors?”

“Six hundred years ago, you’d be arguing for better breeding of horses to ensure they were more muscular and could keep up with the car. Fusion technology is just that—old and outdated. The future is antimatter, and in time, we’ll have more of it than we could possibly need.”

David wondered if attendees were gluttons for punishment.

After another fifteen minutes of back and forth, which, despite his grumpiness, Hayworth clearly enjoyed, he glanced at the clock. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve hit our time limit for today. I look forward to seeing you again and hope you will have studied the material more thoroughly.”

Everyone filed out except for Hayworth, MacIntosh, and David.

MacIntosh raised his hand to catch Hayworth’s attention and motioned the doctor over. Gesturing to David, he said, “Doctor, this is Colonel David Cohen. He’s going to be commanding the Lion of Judah.”

Hayworth took a moment to look David over. “Awfully young for this job, aren’t you?”

MacIntosh shifted his weight. “Colonel Cohen is a veteran of—”

“Oh yes, veteran of this campaign and that. I’m well aware of how young our veteran officers are getting, General.” Hayworth appraised David closely. “So, Colonel, are you aware of the significance of your vessel’s power source and advanced technology?”

David stared at Hayworth, determining that showing any personal weakness to the man could prove fatal in dealing with him down the road. “I’ve read the engineering briefing and explanation of the benefits and risks of this technology, Doctor. While I make no claim to be a scientist, there seem to be some significant risks in carrying around antimatter on a warship.”

“No more dangerous than the munitions you already carry,” Hayworth snapped. “An antimatter system will make up for any slight increase in internal volatility by significantly enhancing the power output of your vessel. Enough to use a number of the latest, most efficient, and powerful deflector screen generators in our possession, which will, I remind you, enhance ship survivability.”

David bristled. Deciding he didn’t like the man, he responded in a more direct tone. “I’ve found that no matter how much engineers and designers tout a ship’s survivability, it usually comes down to how good the crew is.”

“Well, of course it does,” Hayworth retorted, giving off an air of having fielded such remarks before. “A machine’s effectiveness is determined by the skill of the user. But that doesn’t mean the machine itself isn’t an optimized device.”

Hayworth paused, staring at the patches on David’s left sleeve. Like all CDF members, David had the flag of the Terran Coalition at the top. Directly under it was another patch that denoted his nation-state, which in Cohen’s case was the Republic of Israel, a Star of David on a white background. Some chose to substitute that patch with one for their chosen religion. Wearing a third patch with a religious symbol was also permitted.

“Colonel, do you consider yourself a Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox Jew? I’m assuming you’re not an ultra-Orthodox, since you serve in the military.” Hayworth smirked.

David grimaced as Hayworth’s words registered. I’m not in the mood to have someone who doesn’t even know me insult my beliefs, especially when I put my life on the line to protect his rights. “I’m an Orthodox Jew, Doctor. As for my ultra-Orthodox brethren, they serve in other ways.”

“By endlessly studying some book of fiction from four thousand years ago?”

MacIntosh gazed back and forth at them, not saying anything. David had the sudden impression he was watching to see how he would handle the situation.

“Are law, philosophy, and history fiction?”

“They’re not science.”

“Our holy books don’t purport to be science texts.”

“They do when they insist ‘God created the heavens and the earth.’”

“Yet it’s a scientific consensus that Earth and many other planets are finely tuned for life. A reasonable person—as well as every religion—believes in creation directed by God.”

Hayworth sniffed. “Same old fallacy—popularity does not equal truth. Every piece of evidence that supposedly points toward that conclusion can easily be interpreted to support the Many-Worlds Interpretation of quantum mechanics, Colonel. In the MWI, we are simply one of the universes that happened, by random chance, to be hospitable to life. Combine that with anthropomorphism, and you get humans imagining God.”

“As I understand it, there is no proof of a multiverse existing.”

“There is mathematically—and where math leads, physics follows.”

“There is, on the other hand, clear, concise proof in our physical constants, that if N, for instance, was significantly smaller, our universe would not exist.” Explain that, Doctor.

Hayworth’s face registered shock, and he laughed. “Impressive, General. You found a military man that has a basic understanding of cosmology, even if he interprets it wrong. I thought we were fresh out of those.”

Before MacIntosh could respond, David interjected, “Jews are taught to question, Doctor. I paid attention in science class, and I put my faith to the test. It’s held up fine so far. Science says it’s impossible to prove a negative. Nobody can prove the nonexistence of God. As a man of science, why do you keep trying so hard to do the impossible?”

“Impossible is just a word for what hasn’t yet been done, my boy—and I like a challenge.”

MacIntosh cleared his throat and cut in, “Doctor, I’d like you to brief Colonel Cohen on how the ship’s engineering section works.”

As Hayworth paused, David realized that despite the man’s arrogance, he didn’t seem willing to cross the flag officer that controlled the flow of his research grants.

“Oh, yes, of course. Please, follow me. I’d like to introduce you to Major Merriweather,” Hayworth said as he led them down the hall to the engineering section of the ship.

They walked down a series of passageways through the mammoth ship, David and MacIntosh following at a distance.

MacIntosh asked, “So what exactly is N?”

David smiled at him. “N is the ratio of the strength of electromagnetism to the strength of gravity for a pair of protons. It’s one of the six constants of the universe that govern our reality.”

MacIntosh snorted. “The science stuff is over my head. Why exactly do you know this?”

“I love to read, and there was a kid in my class in middle school who acted just like the good doctor. I rather enjoyed debating him—and winning.”

“Well, that’s about the only time I’ve seen someone shut that pompous ass up. Congratulations.”

“I doubt he’ll shut up for long. He just didn’t want to tick off the guy with his hand on the money spigot.”

“No doubt.”

David laughed, and his mind wandered as they walked through the ship’s passageways. After less than five minutes, though it felt longer, they arrived at an office marked with an electronic sign displaying Maj. Elizabeth Merriweather, Senior Project Manager. Hayworth walked through the hatch into the office, followed by MacIntosh and David.

Merriweather was seated at her desk. A woman in her midthirties, she wore a standard khaki CDF duty uniform. She belatedly jumped to her feet and braced to attention. “Sir! Apologies, sir,” she said as her face turned red.

MacIntosh offered a small smile. “At ease, Major. I recognize the result of being around civilians too long.”

Hayworth made introductions. “Colonel Cohen, this is Major Elizabeth Merriweather from the CDF’s Special Projects Division. Eliza has been on the project from the beginning.”

David stepped forward and offered his hand. “Major, good to meet you.”

“Likewise, Colonel,” Merriweather said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Colonel Cohen is newly assigned as the commander of the Lion,” Hayworth explained. “We need to bring him up to speed on the antimatter system.”

“Oh, of course. Allow me, Doctor.” Eliza tapped a button on her desk, and a hologram popped up, showing a hydrogen atom with a plus sign on it. “Basically, antimatter is matter with a reverse charge to normal matter—the electrons have a positive charge and the protons, a negative charge. When antimatter and matter come into contact, they annihilate each other, producing energy. The potential energy release from this reaction is as high as one hundred orders of magnitude above that of a fusion reaction. Of course, antimatter occurs very rarely in the universe and is usually annihilated almost instantly because of contact with normal matter, so we have to create it through specialized particle accelerators.”

“Wouldn’t it just be destroyed after creation when it comes into contact with normal matter?” David asked.

“That’s where the magnetic containment comes in,” Merriweather replied. “You can keep antimatter isolated through a magnetic field. We’ve already successfully concluded tests with magnetic field containers for antimatter that will serve as your ship’s fuel bunkers. They’re quite safe, Colonel, I assure you.”

“Maybe in normal operation, but what about in combat?”

“The bunker space is within the ship’s armored keel, as is the center point of the reactor. Though I believe it best if I finish these explanations in your tour of the ship. It might be a bit easier to understand if you can actually see what we’re doing to her.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” MacIntosh said then turned to David. “The tour is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I trust everyone can accommodate that?”

“Actually, I have a lecture at—” Hayworth noticed a dirty look from Merriweather. “But I believe Dr. Hart can fill in for me in the later lectures.”

“Excellent, Doctor. Have a lovely day,” MacIntosh said and led David out of the office. As they moved farther down the hall, he whispered, “You’re going to have your hands full with that one, Colonel.”

* * *

The CSV Oxford was not actually a warship in the Coalition Defense Force but instead a technical research ship, as she was outfitted with a pinpoint sensor suite, extensive listening equipment, and a large complement of intelligence analysts. Tasked to patrol far behind the front lines, the Oxford was a CDF intelligence vessel for spooks and run by spooks.

Sitting in the middle of the enormous operations-center floor, which took up several decks of the ship, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Sinclair glanced up at the large plaque mounted in the center of the holoprojector displays. It proclaimed the motto of CDF Intelligence: “In God We Trust. All Others, We Monitor.” He turned back to a decryption program that ran on several intercepted League transmissions and watched as the progress bar ticked one more percent.

“A watched decryption never finishes, sir,” Second Lieutenant Alon Tamir said, unable to keep the hint of a grin off his face.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, Butter Bars,” Sinclair replied in his polished English accent.

Tamir thought he enjoyed poking fun at him and hoped with time he might end up earning the colonel’s respect with his abilities.

“Of course, sir.”

“Did you finish composing an analysis on those reports I gave you earlier?”

“Yes, sir. It’s in your inbox.”

“What’s the BLUF, Butter Bars?” BLUF stood for bottom line, up front.

“That the League fleet in this sector has limited supplies to carry out ongoing offensive actions, so we should plan a counterattack immediately before they’re able to resupply,” Tamir responded with a smile.

“Good. The same conclusion I reached, but maybe you’re learning something on this tub.”

“Perhaps great minds think alike, sir,”

Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

Tamir took the pokes in stride, as the Oxford was legendary in the fleet for its practical jokes. Tamir had even heard a group of chiefs had taken the entire contents of the XO’s quarters and arranged them on the outer hull exactly as his quarters was set up. The XO had left it all out there for a week before the ringleader fessed up and moved everything back. At some point, another newbie would come on the ship, and that person would get the attention rather than him. Tamir really looked forward to that day. “Yes, sir,” he replied with a grin.

Tamir’s console beeped, showing a League communication being intercepted. Turning his attention to his console, he noticed that the transmission lacked typical League encryption protocols. “Colonel, I’ve got an unencrypted League transmission, sir.”

Sinclair snorted. “Probably a propaganda video. I’m in the mood for a good laugh. Put it up on the big screen.”

A few moments later, the flag of the League of Sol appeared on the main holoviewer in the operations center. It was quickly replaced by a white flag then transitioned to a man’s face. Tamir and Sinclair exchanged glances as the images on the screen changed.

“This message is for the government of the Terran Coalition,” the man began. “I am Diplomatic Minister Carl Jenner of the League of Sol Social and Public Safety Committee.”

As he spoke, Sinclair snorted again. “Oh great. They want us to surrender. Not bloody likely.”

“For the last twenty-seven years, our respective militaries have fought and died in a galaxy-wide war. The League of Sol believes that now is the time for us to set aside this mindless slaughter and try to find common ground between humanity.”

Tamir’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Is this some sort of sick joke the comm techs are playing on us?

“The League of Sol realizes that an overture for cessation of hostilities after so many years may be difficult to comprehend. To prove our sincerity and goodwill, we propose to send a ship with five thousand prisoners of war to the Terran Coalition along with our delegation to Canaan for the purpose of a negotiated peace that is acceptable to both sides. As a further gesture of goodwill, the League will halt military operations in Terran Coalition space for the next five days while this proposal is considered. We await your response.”

The transmission ended, leaving only a blank screen in its wake. The operations center was very quiet as officers and enlisted personnel looked at one another, not sure what to make of what they’d seen.

Sinclair cleared his throat. “Okay, which one of you chaps put that together? That’s got to be the best prank ever pulled on this ship.”

No one answered him. It began to sink in with Tamir that perhaps the video was genuine.

“Lieutenant Tamir, can we confirm that the signal originated from League territory?”

Tamir had started working on that before Sinclair asked him. “Yes, sir, I can. Triangulation shows it originating from behind their front lines.”

“Get me a gold-level communications channel to the SecDef, Lieutenant.”

As Tamir moved to comply, he realized he had been referred to as Lieutenant for the first time that week and not Butter Bars. “Yes, sir.”

Perhaps the League wanted to end the war. The implications were incredible, and Tamir fought to keep his excitement in check so that he could focus on the task at hand.

A few minutes passed as the link was made. “I’ve got the Secretary of Defense’s office for you, sir.”

Sinclair turned and faced the camera for the communications vidlink. “Mr. Secretary, you’re going to want to sit down for this.”

15

MacIntosh glanced at David, who was sitting in front of his desk, then turned his gaze toward the Lion. She was visible through the windows that looked out upon the nearby dock. Cohen had better be the right one.

He finished pulling up a file on his tablet and cleared his throat. “Colonel, the clearances of your preferred command crew have been approved. That leaves the other officers being assigned.”

Before David could speak, an intercom on MacIntosh’s desk went off. “General Barton is here to see you, sir. He insists that it’s urgent and cannot wait,” Roberts said.

“Let him in,” MacIntosh said, annoyed.

The office door opened, and in walked General Barton. He braced to attention respectfully as MacIntosh and David stood. David braced to attention as well.

“General, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” MacIntosh said with an edge to his voice. “Colonel, I’ll get back to you later. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” he said and quickly exited the room, glancing at Barton with curiosity.

With David gone, MacIntosh and Barton sat down.

“You’ve told him there’s no way he gets his command crew where he wants them, correct?” Barton asked.

“Of course.”

“Ah, good. Wouldn’t want to make him feel spoiled, would we?” Barton sneered.

They stared at each other intently.

“General Barton, if this is about—”

“His unfitness for this kind of command? Not really.” Barton cracked a smile. “You know as well as I do what this project really is. ‘Victory Project’ sounds all nice and optimistic, but it should be more like ‘Last Gamble Project,’ and you know it as much as I do. The only reason they’re letting you pick that kid is because half the joint chiefs are convinced the technology won’t work. Better to let the young colonel take heat for a failed ship design than a man who’s about to get general stars and actually do some good in this war.”

“You know, Barton, I thought you were simply overselling your part in the court-martial, but you really don’t like Colonel Cohen, do you?”

“Like? That has nothing to do with it, Andrew. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the perfect man for this project,” Barton said. “As I said, you know as well as I do that this is hardly going to win the war. As it stands, if we’re lucky, it won’t bankrupt the Coalition before the strain on the fleet would anyway. And don’t throw that old canard of defeatism around.” He leaned forward. “It’s one thing to keep the morale of the public up, to keep them working overtime in factories and paying more for goods to help keep the war effort going. That’s why nobody says these things in public. But let’s face facts. The Coalition is in a war that it’ll be lucky to survive with a negotiated peace. We’re not going to drive the League out with or without these new ships.”

“You’re being pessimistic.”

“And you’re being foolish. There are other matters we should be turning our energy to, not putting everything we’ve got into magical technologies to end the war.”

“It’s not magical. It works,” MacIntosh said flatly. “Hayworth’s team has proven consistently in the last six months that the antimatter reactor is everything he claimed it would be. All it took was the right amount of funds being applied to procure the right materials and the best people to work on it.”

“Congratulations. One ship will not turn the tide of this war. Or need I remind you that with the start of the latest spring offensive by the League, we’re being pushed back across nearly the entire front?” Barton asked, raising his voice.

“One ship isn’t supposed to turn the tide of the war. It’s supposed to become a symbol that drives morale back up and serves as a test bed for new technologies that can be implemented fleet wide…and that will turn the tide of the war.” MacIntosh’s calm façade was breaking. I hate political appointees. This man doesn’t deserve the stars he wears. Without connections, he would never have made it beyond major.

The intercom on his desk went off again, and MacIntosh pressed the button to answer it with some irritation. “Yes?”

“This is Secretary Dunleavey’s office, sir. He says it’s urgent and he needs to see you right away,” Roberts said in a singsong.

“We’ll continue this discussion later, then.”

16

Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood of the Terran Coalition Marine Corps—a tall, very well-built, dark-skinned American of African descent—sat on the couch in his living room, flipping through a stack of medals. He looked closely at several. Just seeing them made him recall the events that led to each: planetary defense operations, invasions of League-occupied worlds to liberate them back into the Terran Coalition, boarding operations, and everything in between for twenty-one long years of service. Until a few minutes ago, Calvin pondered bitterly. The time had finally come for him to retire in six months, but that was being delayed. Jess isn’t going to react well to this development. Not even sure what I think about it.

He leaned back, glancing around the room in his relatively modest home on the grounds of Camp Fox, a large TCMC base in a remote area of Canaan. Its primary function was as a training ground for new Marines. Calvin had been in command of a training brigade for the last eighteen months.

Jessica walked in then gave him a kiss as she sat next to him. “Putting everything away for retirement?”

Calvin stared at a medal he’d earned during one of his first deployments as second lieutenant for fighting off waves of League troops while protecting a group of wounded Marines whose corpsman had been killed by enemy fire. “They’re giving me new orders,” he said before looking up at his wife.

Jessica’s face clouded over. “What do you mean, ‘new orders’? You’ve got less than six months to finish at Field Command School.”

“They want me to take a new assignment, overseeing an MEU connected with the Victory Project.”

“What? Why? They know you’re retiring in six months. They know that, right?”

Calvin steeled himself. “They also asked me to stay on for another three years.”

At that, Jessica’s emotions got the best of her. “Oh no! No! You’re not going to let them do this to us!” she shouted. “You said you were done. You were ready to settle down!”

Calvin struggled to respond to his wife’s outburst. He knew that, more than anything, she wanted him to get out of the military.

“I was, Jess. It’s just… It wasn’t just any request. This came straight from General MacIntosh himself. He wants me to lead the MEU on that ship they keep saying they’re building. It’s real. I’ve got to do this.”

Calvin reached out to take her hand, but she swatted it away and just stared at him. “So that’s it, isn’t it? They raise the flag again, and you go running off without a thought?” she asked, seething.

“I took an oath, baby.”

“You’re damned right, you took an oath. You took one to me. You promised me this was the end. I want a child, Calvin. I’m sick of wondering if you’re not coming back every time you walk out the door. What about me?” she shouted.

“Jess—”

“I’ve been waiting for you to settle down for twenty damn years, Calvin! I’m tired of waiting!”

Flustered and seemingly unable to say anything else, she stormed out and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Calvin went to the door and knocked on it. “Hon? Please, come back out. We can talk about this.”

After more than a few seconds of silence, he stepped away and sat back down in the living room. Looking at the tablet that held his new orders, he shook his head. This posting had damn well better be worth it.

* * *

David pulled his cover on as he walked onto the bridge of the Lion of Judah, taking in the sight of all the people working on the bridge and its combat information center, or CIC. General MacIntosh had already given him the so-called nickel tour of the ship, but this was his first time alone on the bridge. Many technicians, both military and contractor, worked on various consoles. Recalling his old days as damage-control team leader, he walked over to one of the many stations with cables and parts strewn around it. A CDF officer was under the console. David could just make out his rank as a first lieutenant.

“And what are we doing here, Lieutenant?” David asked.

The younger man poked his head up. “Trying to troubleshoot a short in the communications control system. Not enough engineers to go around, and the contractors are all focused on weapons and shields,” he explained.

David felt mildly amused as the young man glanced up, saw his rank insignia, then dropped everything to stand and come to attention.

“Colonel, sir!”

A few other personnel took notice of David and came to attention.

He said quickly, “At ease, everyone. Carry on with repairs.”

As the rest of the technicians and contractors resumed what they had been doing, David returned his focus to the young man. Taking note of the name on his badge, he spoke again. “So, Lieutenant Taylor, what station are you assigned to?”

“I’m the senior communications officer, sir. I arrived last night.”

David took a seat at a console to the left of the communications station. “I see. I was assigned yesterday as well.”

“Yes, sir. We’re receiving a lot of transfer paperwork. Seems like the brass is staffing up the ship quickly.”

“I haven’t been able to review the service jackets of the senior personnel yet because of the volume. Got to love that one of the few constants in the universe is paperwork in the government.”

Taylor chuckled politely. “Of course, sir.”

Determined to draw something more than small talk out of the young man, David persisted. “So, tell me something about yourself that I won’t find in your service jacket, Lieutenant.”

“Um, well, sir... I like to work on unbreakable cryptology problems in my spare time.”

David smiled. Hanson will like this guy. Natural-born nerd. “Okay, well, here’s one that is in your service jacket… What’s your first name?”

Taylor turned a few shades of red. “Robert, sir. Robert Taylor.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m David Cohen.”

“Sir, is it true you rammed an enemy ship in your last combat? We’ve heard a lot of scuttlebutt.”

“Yes, it is. We rammed an enemy frigate, disabling it and saving a convoy of civilians from the League.”

“That’s impressive, sir. I wish I could have been there.”

“Lieutenant, it was a desperate action that cost seventy-eight people on my crew their lives, but it was a gamble that succeeded. One thing it was not was impressive. And should you find yourself in a command position someday, remember that we hold the lives of those we lead in our hands. That is an awesome responsibility that should never be taken for granted.”

Taylor gulped. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Lieutenant.” David felt his own face warm. He’d known as soon as he finished saying it that he shouldn’t have laid into the young man quite so hard. “To be clear, I’m not planning on ever ramming this ship into anything,” he finished, trying to lighten the conversation.

A grin eased its way onto Taylor’s face. “Well, at least if you rammed a frigate with this ship… it’d be like smearing a bug on a windshield.”

“That’s the spirit, Lieutenant.”

Just as David was about to take his leave, Taylor’s comm unit went off. “Rob, you won’t believe this!” Before Taylor could turn it off, the man continued. “I just heard a rumor that the League wants to talk peace! They sent a message to our government!”

Bewildered, David asked, “Lieutenant, do we get Canaan News Network up here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pull it up, please. Maybe this rumor is on the news.”

* * *

Justin Spencer, the president of the Terran Coalition, waited outside the richly adorned conference room within the Canaan primary government center. Watching his ministers, leading generals, and advisors walk in and take their seats, he ran the events of the last several hours through his mind for the millionth time. Spencer had been elected five and a half years prior and was a member of the Liberal party. A former fighter pilot, he’d served first as a reservist then on active duty during the opening years of the war.

The Liberals were known by different names on different planets in the coalition. On the British worlds, they were called the Conservatives or Tories. On the American planets, they were known as Republicans. Overall, the Liberals were the largest center-right party within the Terran Coalition.

Spencer had replaced the previous president, who was a member of the Liberal-Democrats, which was the largest center-left party. The Terran Coalition had numerous splinter parties, and neither of the mainstream parties could govern without a broad coalition. For many years after the start of the war, broad consensus had produced unity governments. Over the last ten years, that consensus had collapsed. The Left favored limited military engagement with a focus on diplomatically ending the war, while the Right favored increased military spending, a buildup of the fleet, and a policy of unconditional surrender by the League as the only acceptable end to the war. Spencer’s coalition was made up of numerous center-right political organizations, including Likud from New Israel, and the United Arab League from New Arabia. Spencer strongly favored building up the Coalition Defense Force, and it was his leadership that provided a nearly unlimited stream of funds for the Victory Project. It didn’t hurt that Spencer had served with General MacIntosh when they were both young officers.

As the last invited member of the meeting took a seat, Spencer strode into the room. Immediately, everyone stood as a sign of respect for the office of the president.

“Ladies, gentlemen, please be seated.” Spencer was known for being a bit of a cowboy. He wasn’t afraid to say what he meant or shoot from the hip. Taking his seat next to Secretary of Defense Dunleavy, he nodded to begin.

“Mr. President, Generals. I have asked for this meeting to discuss a new development in the war.” Dunleavy paused. “Earlier this morning, we received this communiqué from the League.” He pressed a button on his tablet, and the message appeared on the tablets of all in the room as well as the holographic projector at the back.

Spencer looked up from it after a moment, his eyes wide. “A peace proposal with a joint offer to the Saurians? But they’ve been steadily pushing us back with this new spring offensive, as they keep calling it.”

Barton leaned forward, a slight smile forming. “I think this is the opening we’ve all been waiting for, gentlemen. Mr. President, I suggest we act on this proposal as soon as possible.”

MacIntosh’s face turned red as he listened to Barton’s comments. “General, Mr. President, we cannot afford to look weak in the face of this offer. We must listen to what they have to say, but we cannot just give them whatever they want.”

“Mr. President, I’m torn on this issue. While victory has been the goal of the Coalition Defense Force for the last twenty-seven years, an honorable peace that preserves our territory and returns the border planets lost to us is acceptable to me. I cannot stress enough, however, that I view any peace offering from the League with some measure of skepticism. We must consider, in my opinion, this offer to be a ruse until proven otherwise,” Dunleavy replied.

“That kind of mindset will continue this war until we’re finally defeated and enslaved. Mr. President, we must seize this opportunity and exploit it for all it’s worth, even if we don’t get everything we want out of peace,” Barton interjected.

Spencer sat back in his chair. Of all the possible outcomes of the war, a peace offer wasn’t one he had considered, though the Saurian Empire had been pressing the League to start peace talks. Not that we ever thought they’d bear fruit. I figured the only reason the Saurians were trying to help us was to repay what they felt was a debt of honor. “I understand the arguments on both sides, and I believe we’ve got to entertain this request. According to the communiqué, they would like to send one warship and a cargo ship with POWs, including the former president’s daughter, to be turned over to us as a show of good faith, followed by being escorted to Canaan for these proposed peace talks. Any objections to that sequence of events?”

“Mr. President, I feel that we cannot allow a League warship within Canaan’s defense perimeter. Even if it’s not a ruse, they could gather intelligence on our static defenses and the home defense fleet,” Dunleavy replied.

“As commander of the home defense fleet, I feel those risks are overstated, Mr. Secretary,” Barton interjected. “Allowing a single ship in is an acceptable risk for peace. I suggest we send the Ark Royal to escort the League’s flagship to Canaan.”

MacIntosh leaned forward. “Mr. President, while I agree that we must entertain this peace offer, I suggest a different approach. Instead of the Ark Royal, I propose we send the Lion of Judah. She’s almost ready for launch, and a powerful new battleship appearing in front of the League will put us in a position of strength for talks, and it might shake them up a bit and put them off balance.”

“The Lion of Judah? The ship hasn’t even had a shakedown run yet. It’s not fit for duty or combat, and its commanding officer is questionable in a diplomatic situation. In his last combat, he rammed an enemy ship, for God’s sake! On top of that, General, do you really want to reveal our new technology and weapons platform to the enemy?” Barton asked.

“If it’s so unproven and not fit for duty, what harm could there be in showing it to the enemy, General Barton? As far as I’m concerned, the Lion is the best option and will keep the League off balance. Keeping them off balance during a diplomatic situation furthers our goals,” MacIntosh replied.

“I agree with General MacIntosh,” Spencer said. Barton’s opinion carried little weight with him as a political appointee from the previous administration. The man is a defeatist, and I ought to have him replaced. “The Victory Project has caused a lot of rumors for a while now, both at home and within the League. A dramatic unveiling will help boost the morale of our citizens and shake up the League intelligence network. Andrew, can the Lion of Judah be ready for duty in forty-eight hours?”

MacIntosh nodded firmly. “Yes, sir.”

Spencer stood. “Then you have your orders, General.” Looking at Dunleavy, he continued, “Charles, get Andrew anything he needs. Anything at all. If there’s any red tape, bring it to me, and I’ll remove it. Via executive order, if I have to.”

The assembled company bristled with energy as they waited to be dismissed, but Spencer had one more request for them. “If you all would, please take a moment and pray for the success of this endeavor.” He bowed his head with the rest of them. “Lord, we ask You to bless this peace offering. Please grant strength, wisdom, and courage to all of us, and especially the crew of the Lion of Judah and her commander. Amen.” He lifted his head and gazed at the men and women in the room. “Meeting is adjourned, ladies and gentlemen. Good luck and Godspeed.”

As they filed out, Spencer thought about his old friends and comrades from the CSV Zvika Greengold. So many had perished, and only a few survived. If we can finally end this war on favorable terms, it’ll have been worth the cost. Still, Spencer couldn’t set aside his belief that the only way to defeat the League was to destroy it for good.

17

Sheila stood in the Lion’s main engineering space, gazing up at the massive antimatter reactor and its associated fuel and cooling systems. Not much of an engineer, she was still wowed by the scale of the technology. The reactor assembly appeared larger than the entire engineering space on the Rabin. Hundreds of engineers and technicians swarmed over every foot of the space. Many wore CDF uniforms, but a surprisingly big number had civilian clothes on.

The voice of Dr. Hayworth boomed out from the center of a group of engineers. “You idiot! You’re supposed to monitor the antimatter mix and ensure it remains within the safe zone. Now get back to your stations and try again.”

She smirked, listening to the man rant. David had warned her Hayworth was difficult, but she’d wanted to see for herself. As the group of engineers scattered, Sheila walked over to introduce herself. “Dr. Hayworth?”

“Yes? What can I do for you? Want an autograph?” he asked.

“No, Doctor. I’m Major Sheila Thompson, the Lion’s second officer.” She extended her hand.

Hayworth looked at her hand for several seconds, like it was from a different planet.

“Doctor, remember your manners.” A woman emerged from behind an engineering console.

Appropriately chastened, Hayworth shook Sheila’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Major.”

“Major Elizabeth Merriweather, CDF Special Programs division.” She extended her own hand.

Sheila took it and replied, “Major Sheila Thompson, second officer. This is truly an incredible feat of engineering. I must compliment you both.”

Hayworth ran his eyes over her uniform. “Can I count you among the enlightened, Major?”

“The enlightened?”

“Those of us who worship nothing but science.”

“I’m afraid not, Doctor.”

“A pity. So hard to find another that thinks as I do.”

“Maybe you should move to the League once the peace is signed. I hear they’re all atheists.”

“They’re even worse than you people. All they worship is mankind—a flawed and crippled god, no match for scientific truth.”

“They worship conformity and power, Doctor. We’re the better choice.”

“Obviously. Freedom of thought is always a better choice. I fully support our Coalition. That doesn’t mean it can’t be further improved—or enlightened.”

Merriweather moved to divert the conversation. “Major, were you an engineer at some point in your career?” she asked.

“No, but I know what an incredible feat of engineering looks like when I see it,” Sheila replied with a smile.

“It would be nice if the military stopped pushing me to complete this ship ahead of schedule,” Hayworth grumbled, apparently mollified. “They’d be less likely to get a ship that breaks down on its first jump.”

“We still have two weeks before early trials start. I’m sure that’s enough time, from the reports I read this morning,” Sheila said.

Both Merriweather and Hayworth stared at her.

“Haven’t you heard, young lady?” Hayworth asked smugly.

Sheila shook her head. “Heard what?”

“CDF command wants this ship in space in forty-eight hours. Don’t you military types talk to each other?”

Sheila pulled up her personal communicator. Quickly skimming the messages, she found one from General MacIntosh to the command staff, calling for a staff meeting and asking for all departments to be ready to launch in two days. “I guess I missed that one. I had my communicator on silent this morning.”

Hayworth rolled his eyes. “Glad I’m not going along, if the ship is to be crewed by incompetents like you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Merriweather grimaced. “I’m sorry, Major. The doctor is a bit temperamental. This project is his magnum opus to science, if you will. He’s put everything into it..”

Sheila smiled. I wonder why she’s making excuses for him.

“Of course, Major. I’m sure he’s under a lot of stress. I wonder if he realizes he’s the lesser of evils for us.”

“You mean either putting up with him or failing? I doubt he’d see the irony.”

“I’d better get to the bridge and check in with Colonel Cohen. Sounds like we’ve had a significant change in plans.” Shelia frowned. “I hope there hasn’t been a serious setback. We don’t need that right now.”

“I know. I’ve been insulated from the war a lot by working for the special-projects team, but I know we’ve been getting hammered lately.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve given it back just as much as we’ve taken,” Sheila replied with faux confidence. In truth, she was worried too. She didn’t know anyone in the service who wasn’t.

“Glad to hear. I’d better get back to work, too, Major. Godspeed.”

“Same to you,” Sheila said as she turned to walk away.

* * *

Kenneth Lowe, the assigned program manager from Strathclyde Shipboard Integrators for the shipboard systems installation contract for the Lion, looked over the message that just popped up on his tablet. He and his deputy, Joshua Carter, sat in a small office aboard the Lion of Judah. It had been assigned to him by the program executive office.

With over four hundred personnel, he had one of the largest teams of contractors on the ship. Kenneth had worked for SSI for nearly ten years, and at thirty-five years old, he was the youngest senior program manager in the company. Assigned to the Lion out of spite for his insistence on following the Coalition Acquisition Regulations, Kenneth was something of an oddity. He came from a military family but didn’t like taking orders he couldn’t question and had not renewed his enlistment after his initial draft period. That aside, he loved working for the military. Being part of something larger than him gave meaning and purpose to his life, and he took a great deal of pride in the idea that his work and the work of his team supported the men and women on the business end of the spear.

As he quickly read over the message, his jaw dropped. “Josh, I think we have a problem.”

“What now, sir?”

“The program executive office for CDF Special Projects just instructed us to complete our work in the next thirty-six hours and have the Lion ready for deployment.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Joshua said, causing Kenneth to raise an eyebrow. Joshua never cussed.

Kenneth passed the tablet over. “Have a look for yourself.”

After scanning the message, Joshua said, “There’s no way we can have this ship combat ready in less than two days. They must want it to meet the League peace delegation we heard about earlier.”

“You may be right, but we can’t let them get out there without a working ship. I think we could have her ready in four days, if we worked twenty-four hours a day and nothing went wrong.”

“But we don’t have four days, boss.”

“We do if we stay on the ship when it gets into space. It’s at least two days’ journey to our border, even with the upgraded Lawrence drives.”

“It’s not in our contract to be in the field, sir. Not only that, but you know Casey won’t let us do it without extracting overtime and hazard pay from the CDF.”

Kenneth rolled his eyes at the mention of Stephen Casey, the SSI vice president. Among all the people in SSI he had to report to, Casey was one of the worst, seemingly focused on squeezing as much profit out of the military as he could. Kenneth had come to loathe the man. In fact, he spent most of his job creatively figuring out how to get around his directives.

“To hell with Casey. I’m not letting this ship roll out of here without its systems working. Without fully functional shields, weapons systems, and the tactical network that links it all together, this thing is a flying coffin,” Kenneth spat.

Joshua sat back. About ten years older than Kenneth, he was usually the voice of reason, but he was silent for a moment. “Are you willing to fall on your sword for that?” he asked.

Kenneth nodded firmly. “This mission might be the end of the war. If it costs me my career to ensure this ship’s ready to meet the challenge, that’s worth it to me.”

“Then let’s get moving… and you don’t get to quit without me. They fire you, I’m right behind you,” Joshua said, grinning.

Kenneth laughed. “Have our leads pulse the entire team on who’s willing to stay aboard, and make sure they don’t pressure anyone. This is strictly a volunteer assignment.”

At that moment, the door swung open, and Harold Billings, one of the leads on the Lion of Judah project, stuck his head in. Kenneth had nicknamed Harold Master Chief because he was older and had many youngsters on his team. “Hey, boss.”

Kenneth motioned him inside. “Good timing, Master Chief. Come on in. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

18

David sat at one end of the table in the main conference room aboard his new ship. Most of the senior command crew was present, including Major Sheila Thompson and Major Arthur Hanson. Their promotions had been processed and awarded. Also in attendance were Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood, First Lieutenants Ruth Goldberg and Shelly Hammond, the ship’s third-watch officer and backup navigator, First Lieutenant Robert Taylor, and Major Elizabeth Merriweather, who was assigned to the Lion of Judah for the duration of her shakedown.

Dr. Hayworth was absent, as David had ordered that the civilian engineer not be present for military command briefings. In truth, he didn’t want the man around period, although he had no choice but to work with him.

General MacIntosh walked through the door at the far end of the room, followed by an older man also in a CDF uniform with a medical patch. The entire assembled staff stood and braced to attention.

“As you were, ladies and gentlemen.”

At MacIntosh’s command, they resumed their seats.

“Before we begin,” MacIntosh said, “I’d like to introduce everyone to Dr. Izmet Tural, the chief medical officer for the Lion of Judah. I’d give you time for introductions now, but we have urgent matters to discuss, so please be seated.”

Tural sat, while MacIntosh remained standing.

“Two days ago, League military operations across the entire front halted. All active combat operations were ceased, and troops pulled out of ten contested systems where the League had commenced invasions. We’ve even gotten reports that on partially occupied worlds, the League armies have ended direct combat operations.”

Calvin spoke up. “Sounds like they’re planning something big. It could be ’48 all over again.”

“That’s what we thought, but yesterday, one of our ships on patrol intercepted a League transmission. The League wishes to commence peace negotiations immediately,” MacIntosh said.

While that had been an open secret, it was still a shock to the members of the command staff.

Taylor was next to speak. “Twenty-six years of fighting, and they’re coming to the table now?”

MacIntosh nodded. “Yes, I understand your skepticism, but our intelligence, corroborated by those neutral states that still favor us, indicates the League is facing a crisis in their home systems because of their war footing disrupting their economy. Forces in their government have already made statements to the effect of needing peace to deal with internal dissensions and economic stagnation. We believe these elements have now come to the fore in the League government. A peace party is en route to our border to be brought to Canaan for talks. They are aboard a League dreadnought, the LSS Destruction, and are accompanying a transport carrying a load of POWs to be returned to the Coalition as a gesture of good faith.”

“They’re really going to send a ship named that on a peace mission?” Sheila asked incredulously.

“It’s the flagship of their mission’s overall commander, Admiral Pierre Seville.”

David recognized the name. “The man who led the initial attack on Canaan,” he said hoarsely. “My father died ramming his flagship.”

“One and the same. And you will be going out to meet him, Colonel.” MacIntosh’s gaze bored into David.

“Sir?”

“The president and SecDef approved the proposal. We’re sending the Lion of Judah out to escort them in.”

“Sir, we’re still in preliminary shakedown preparation. We’re not even sure the antimatter reactor will work properly in sustained operations.”

“The thought is that if we send a carrier, we’re simply reminding them of how we’ve devoted ourselves to a permanent defensive effort. But the Lion? She represents our new direction, a signal to the League that they need to take us seriously in the peace talks and afterward.”

“Ah, so... the League is sending a ship named Destruction to negotiate peace with us,” Sheila said, “and we’re going to respond by sending a ship named after Jesus Christ to make peace with a nation of militant atheists. Is anyone else feeling a bit skeptical of our chances here?”

Various people chuckled. Even MacIntosh seemed amused, if in a subtle way.

“There’s nothing you can say about the ship’s name I haven’t already heard from Dr. Hayworth, Major Thompson.”

“So we’re being sent. Do we have enough stores for the trip?” David turned to Sheila.

“We were bringing aboard parts and items needed for the shakedown cruise. It’ll take a day or so to check over the life support system and charge up the atmosphere reserves from the station supply, but we should be ready to go within forty-eight hours.” She glanced at Hanson. “Provided the engines are ready.”

“Dr. Hayworth and his crew should have them ready, but I’m not sure about our readiness to run the new antimatter reactor under full cruise conditions, much less combat,” Hanson said hesitantly.

“That’s why you’ll be taking Major Merriweather and Dr. Hayworth with you. She’ll oversee the operation of the reactor for the duration of this mission.” MacIntosh drew in a breath. “Listen, I know some of you are skeptical about this. I am too. If anything suspicious happens, report it and keep your guard up, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that if we can put together a negotiated peace with the League, it would mean a lot for the Coalition.”

“An end to the war,” Calvin said slowly. “Demilitarization, no more military oversight in the border worlds, getting the civil services back up...”

“No more killing,” Sheila added.

“Let’s just hope they’re thinking the same thing,” David said.

Sheila gave him an uncomfortable look, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get busy. We’ve got to be ready to go in forty-eight hours. Time is wasting.”

Everyone nodded.

“You heard your CO. Let’s get to work. Dismissed,” MacIntosh said.

The team stood to leave, and as they did, each stopped to welcome Dr. Tural to the ship and the crew. Sheila raised an eyebrow at David in question, though he opted not to respond. He knew she would ask some very tough questions later about where his mind was in dealing with Admiral Seville.

After everyone else filed out of the room, David and MacIntosh were alone.

“Sir, our fighter and bomber squadrons aren’t due for another two weeks. We’ll be going out there without their support.”

“We’re going to arrange for you to rendezvous with the Pat Tillman,” MacIntosh replied. “They’ll transfer some of their squadrons to you. You’ll also be receiving your CAG, Major Amir.”

“Hassan Amir?”

“Yes. You’ve met, I presume?”

“When I was the XO on the Audacious, sir. I’m looking forward to having him as my CAG.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” MacIntosh retrieved a data disc from the wardroom computer. “I’ll be keeping tabs on your preparation. You’re getting top priority for everything you need to be ready for departure, by order of the president.”

“What about my XO? Major Thompson has been assigned as the navigator and second-watch officer, but I haven’t seen the service jacket of any XO candidates yet.”

“You won’t be getting your XO in time. For now, you can have the major function as XO. Use First Lieutenant Shelly Hampton as your navigator. She was to be the second-shift navigator.”

David nodded. “Thank you, sir. That should work out fine.”

“Good luck out there, Colonel. We all hope this will work, but be ready for anything. You should know that President Spencer personally led a prayer for your success in my presence.”

David allowed a smile to cross his face. “I’ll take all the help I can get on this one, sir.”

MacIntosh turned toward the door. “Carry on, Colonel. Godspeed.”

19

“Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this, General?” David asked, pausing before the double doors of Studio C.

“We’ve been over this, Cohen. You’re doing the interview,” MacIntosh replied, pointing toward the door.

“I’m a ship driver, sir—”

“So you’ve said, Colonel. Do I need to explain to you yet again that the Lion of Judah has as much morale and public relations value as it does in military might?”

“Point taken, sir,” David said, resigning himself to the task. He’d been trying to get out of the assignment for the last six hours without success. Why not at least get me onto a broadcast that’s remotely pro-CDF?

“I’ll be in the broadcast booth upstairs while you handle the interview, Colonel. Remember to tout the Lion’s technology without revealing classified information and signal our support for the peace process.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on, Colonel.”

MacIntosh disappeared through another door, leaving David to push through to the studio. He found it teeming with employees of the news channel—Galactic News Network—and the reporter that he was to sit down with, Leslie Sharp. I’ve seen her reports God only knows how many times. She’s so slanted against the CDF that it’s laughable. Again wishing he were anywhere but the studio, he pulled his uniform jacket down one last time, put a smile on his face, and made his way to the interview chair, which was positioned directly in front of a desk, and behind it was Sharp.

“Ms. Sharp,” David said.

“Colonel. Please, have a seat. Ready to go?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’ll just be a moment.”

Something about her voice is fake. David took a sip of water as the director of the show gave a countdown. When the count reached two, Sharp waited three seconds before speaking directly into the camera.

“This is Leslie Sharp with the Galactic News Network. Tonight, we have a special guest, Colonel David Cohen, commanding officer of the newly revealed CSV Lion of Judah. Welcome, Colonel.”

David smiled toward the camera awkwardly. “Thank you, Ms. Sharp. It’s a pleasure to be speaking with you tonight.”

Leslie looked him in the eye with a trademark one-hundred-watt holonet smile. The effect reminded David of a used-helicar salesman. “Just to introduce you to our viewers tonight, how long have you been in the Coalition Defense Force, Colonel?”

“Twenty years, ma’am.”

“I understand it’s nearly impossible to make colonel after being drafted as an enlisted soldier. Sounds like you’ve had an exceptional career, Colonel.”

David wasn’t sure where she was going with that line of questioning. “I’ve done the best I can with the abilities given to me by God, ma’am.”

“I see. Has the fact that your father was, in effect, the hero of the Terran Coalition helped your career along?”

David fought to keep a grimace off his face. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I’ve certainly never made anything of it. If anything, I’d rather it never come up. My father would never have considered himself a hero. He used to remind me often that some things, like our freedoms, are just worth fighting for. That’s what he dedicated his life to.”

“He sounds like a noble man.”

“He was.”

“I understand that in your last combat, you rammed an enemy warship.”

Alarm bells went off in David’s head. What exactly is she trying to do? “Ah, yes, I did, ma’am.”

“And why was that, Colonel? Ramming another ship is usually fatal, isn’t it?” The one-hundred-watt smile was still at full blast.

“Because a League ship was bearing down on a group of transports, and I had no other way to stop that ship from killing tens of thousands of civilians,” David replied an edge to his tone.

“I’m sure you can understand, Colonel, that billions of citizens around the Coalition want to make sure that this wondrous new ship we’re sending into space to meet the League is commanded by an able officer.”

“Of course, ma’am, and I will do my duty to the utmost of my ability. I think everyone in the Terran Coalition is praying that our next mission will be a success and that we will achieve a peace agreement with the League of Sol.”

“Do you believe your superiors in the Coalition Defense Force want the peace talks to succeed?” she asked sweetly.

“Of course they do.”

“I see. Do you think that the League will be willing to forgive the atrocities committed by the CDF during the last twenty-seven years of war?”

David fought to keep his voice neutral. He had expected some kind of ambush but not quite this. “And what atrocities might those be, ma’am?”

For just a moment, the smile faded. “The dozens of documented incidents in which CDF forces have killed League civilians and, in some cases, our own civilians in their overzealous attempts to defeat League troops.”

“Do you know what the rules of engagement are in areas that have civilians in them, Ms. Sharp?” David asked, using his own version of the one-hundred-watt smile.

“I’m familiar with them, yes.”

“Then you know that to fire any type of weapon other than a battle rifle or sidearm in an engagement with civilians present, a JAG attorney must sign off on the strike.”

“I fail to see what that matters, Colonel. Let’s get back to—”

“It matters that a legal representative reviews each request in real time and approves or disapproves the request. I’ve served on the front lines, ma’am. I’ve seen Marines killed from enemy fire coming from buildings with human shields in them. Good men and women have died because we are so against killing civilians that we wouldn’t return fire. With all due respect, the CDF does anything and everything possible to avoid innocent deaths.”

Leslie sat just a bit taller in her chair. “Are you trying to say that the CDF has never killed a civilian, Colonel?” she asked incredulously.

“No, ma’am. I’m saying we don’t kill civilians on purpose. We do everything we can to save civilians. I’m also saying that when we capture League soldiers, they’re interned in camps with better living accommodations than some of our citizens have. They get three hot meals a day, which is more than those serving on my ship get, and I’m sick and tired of hearing people second-guessing the tens of millions of men and women who put their lives on the line every day to defend them.”

“Are you trying to say I don’t have the right to criticize the military, Colonel?” Sharp asked, her lips tight.

“You have every right to, ma’am. But try to remember that if the League won the war, you’d be among the first people they shot.”

“That…” She sputtered for a moment. “And why would you say that, Colonel?”

“Because the League needs people like you to drive our morale down and question the ethics of our military. Once it wins, it doesn’t need you anymore. I think we all know what happens to people who aren’t needed by the League. You can ask our ancestors, or you could ask the families of the dead soldiers from the initial League invasion of Canaan.”

She was clearly shocked by the forcefulness of David’s response. “I see, Colonel. Well, I think our viewers can make up their minds about your fitness to command the first peace mission with the League of Sol.”

David took the barb in stride. “I’m sure they can, ma’am. After all, peace comes through strength.”

“And how exactly is that, Colonel?”

“We all know the history of the first League attack. They decided they could overwhelm us with one massive strike. While it failed, it was close. If we’d had a massive military advantage over them, they wouldn’t have attacked. And with our new breed of ships and technology, that will provide strength and encourage peace.”

“I guess we will find out, Colonel. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

“Thank you for having me, ma’am.”

As the director indicated they were off the air, Sharp stood up and stormed off without a word to David. He was left sitting in the chair for a few minutes until MacIntosh came to collect him. Standing at attention as MacIntosh strode in, he waited for his reaction.

“Well, not quite what we expected, Colonel. Officially, I should reprimand you for getting into a political discussion on intergalactic holovision. Unofficially, jolly good show,” MacIntosh said with a smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, get back to your ship and get ready to go meet the League.”

“Aye, sir,” David said, bracing to attention once more before walking off.

20

David sat behind the desk in his spacious office and stateroom, also known as the day cabin, aboard the Lion of Judah. He was reviewing CDF paperwork, one of the few constants in the universe. He smiled slightly. No matter what happens in terms of advancing technology, the one thing the military is able to keep around is forms in triplicate.

The communications line built into his desk chirped, indicating a call from the bridge. He pressed the button to answer it. “Yes?”

Sheila’s voice filled the room. “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the SSI program manager assigned to our ship wishes to meet with you.”

David rolled his eyes. “XO, what does he want?” he asked, annoyed.

“He wants to discuss preparations for launching the ship, sir.”

David grimaced. “He probably wants me to authorize extended overtime on his contract,” he commented dryly. He shook his head and stared at the speaker. “Send him in, XO.”

“Aye, sir.”

A few minutes later, the hatch to David’s office opened, and a broad-shouldered man walked through. He had to duck under the hatch because of his extreme height.

“Colonel, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kenneth Lowe, and I’m the program manager from SSI assigned to the Lion of Judah’s shipboard systems implementation team.” He placed his hands behind his back.

“Colonel David Cohen. What can I do for you, Mr. Lowe?”

Kenneth glanced down at the desk. “I wanted to discuss the disposition of your ship, sir, and work through getting her as ready as possible for when you put her into space in thirty-six hours.”

As Kenneth spoke, David scowled. He’d had many run-ins with defense contractors over the years and detested the desire of what seemed like most of them to get as much money out of the military as possible. Especially when the military was always short of funds. “Mr. Lowe, let me be clear with you. I’m not in the mood for being shaken down for additional money, and I’m not even the right person to talk to about it.”

Kenneth’s face clouded over. “Colonel, I’m not here to ask for additional funds,” he began, clearly taken aback by David’s assumption. “I realize that contractors have a reputation for moneygrubbing, but I’m here to make sure this ship does what you need it to when you need it to do it. Given the scope of work and the time allotted, there’s no way I can have you combat ready in thirty-six hours.”

David nodded slowly. “I expected that. The military crew will keep working once we put her into space. I would appreciate it if your teams would be willing to transfer as much technical knowledge about the ship’s systems in the time we have left.”

“Gladly, sir. But I’d like to offer our continued services once you put into space.”

David’s eyebrows shot up as he began to reevaluate the lanky defense contractor. “I’m sure you’re aware I can’t guarantee the safety of civilians on this ship once we leave space dock.”

“Oh, of course, sir. We know the score, and my team volunteered. I believe that by the time you reach your rendezvous point, we’ll have primary weapons and shields fully online and operational.”

David stood. “Perhaps I was bit hasty in my judgment of you, Kenneth.”

Kenneth extended his hand, and David shook it.

“This isn’t just a job to us, Colonel. It’s a calling. Most of my team are veterans, and regardless of the bean counters back on New Washington, we’re here to make these ships right. I hope to prove that to you.”

David smiled back at him. “You’ve already gone a long way down that road. Tell me—just how tall are you anyway?”

Kenneth rolled his eyes. “If I had a credit for every time someone asked me that. “Two point one meters. It’s why I never got to serve on a ship. I did my four years on shore duty.”

“Well, I hope you and your team can get us ready. I don’t want to have to fight, but I need to be ready for it.”

“Aye, sir. You’ll be ready. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d better get back down there.”

David stepped back behind his desk. “Carry on, Mr. Lowe.”

21

The next day, David found a few spare minutes to put knickknacks out in his day cabin. As the commanding officer of a warship was never off duty during situations in which combat or adverse action could be expected, he slept near the bridge rather than in his larger stateroom below decks. In decorating the cabin, it had slowly become his own over the last forty-eight hours. Mostly thanks to his personal effects, the room had some character to it that belonged solely to him.

One of his favorite knickknacks was an inert hand grenade bolted to a plaque that read Complaint Department, Please Take a Number. A small 1 hung off the firing pin. It had been a gift from a Marine Corps master gunnery sergeant who’d served under David. It always got looks and was a great conversation starter for first-timers to his office.

Someone rang the bell outside his hatch.

“Come in,” David said, causing the computer to unlock the entryway.

A tall, striking woman walked in. David quickly sized her up. Her skin was coal black, and her uniform had the flag of the African Union in the country position. Below it was the Christian flag.

She walked quickly into the room and came to attention stiffly. “Master Chief Rebecca Tinetariro reporting for duty as ordered, sir,” she announced in a rather posh British accent.

David stood and offered a smile. “At ease, Master Chief.”

Tinetariro relaxed into a parade rest stance, and David walked around the desk, extending his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

Tinetariro looked at the hand for a moment before shaking it. “Thank you, sir.”

David took notice of her viselike grip. He gestured to the nearest chair. “Please, have a seat,” he said before walking back around his desk.

She followed suit, taking a seat with a very rigid posture.

“I looked over your service jacket, Master Chief. Nearly twenty-seven years in the CDF,” David said, looking for some rapport. After all, Tinetariro’s position as master chief made her the senior enlisted person aboard the ship. For what they were about to do on such short notice, she had to be in sync with the officers.

“Yes, sir. I enlisted the week after the attack on Canaan.”

“I see. Looking to drop two thousand pounds of freedom on our friends in the League?” David asked.

For the first time, Tinetariro’s face relaxed just a hair, and she allowed a small smile to grace her face. “Something like that, sir.”

“I was drafted myself. Though by the time I came of age, the war had been on for ten years.”

Tinetariro studied David. “I must confess, sir. I would never have expected to see a mustang be given a command like this.”

David had thought that as well. A mustang was an officer that had been enlisted and was generally looked down on by the rest of the officer corps but more respected by the enlisted soldiers.

“I was surprised by it too. But God works in strange ways sometimes.”

Tinetariro smiled. “That, He does, Colonel.” She glanced at the patches on his shoulder. “Orthodox, sir?”

David nodded. “Born and bred. I’m going to go out on a limb and say Christian for you.”

Tinetariro laughed. “Methodist, sir, and I hope this ship has a good gospel choir.”

“I’ve heard an old-school gospel choir before. I quite enjoyed it.” Sheila had dragged him to a worship service on several occasions.

Tinetariro harrumphed. “When I finish working them into shape, I’ll invite you, sir.”

David returned to more serious matters. “I’m concerned that we’re putting into space with an untested crew, Master Chief. I need you to ensure our enlisted personnel are ready for action in the next two days as we make our way to the rendezvous point with the League.”

“I’ll have them squared away, sir. You’ll think they’ve been gelled for six months when I’m done.”

If I were still a young corporal, the way she smiled when saying that would make my blood run cold. “Glad to hear it, Master Chief. I’d better get back to preparing for our final briefing by General MacIntosh.”

Tinetariro stood and braced to attention. “Yes, sir. Let me know if there’s anything you need from me, sir.”

“Of course, Master Chief. Dismissed.”

She turned smartly and left David’s office.

David sat back in his chair, hopeful that she was just what the doctor had ordered in ensuring tight discipline on board. After Tinetariro left, he continued to work on his briefing materials for General MacIntosh, detailing what was fully functional and what remained to be completed. He was still compiling that list when his vidlink chimed with an inbound request from the general. David pressed the button on his tablet to initialize the link, and a moment later, General MacIntosh’s face appeared on the tablet.

“Good afternoon, General.”

“Good afternoon, Colonel. Ready to go?”

“Yes, sir. Not quite one hundred percent, but we’ll get there.”

“What’s not quite one hundred percent?”

“Our weapons and shields are offline. The onboard engineering team believes that by the time we reach our destination in two days, we’ll be at full operational capability.”

MacIntosh furrowed his brow. “I see. Does this have anything to do with some of the contractors not disembarking as planned?”

David raised an eyebrow. How did MacIntosh find out about that so fast? He hadn’t told anyone. “Well, sir, uh… perhaps.”

MacIntosh laughed. “I have eyes in the back of my head, Colonel.”

David laughed nervously. “I see, sir. They volunteered.”

“I heard that too. Rare breed, that lead contractor for SSI. He actually seems to care more about us than he does about squeezing the CDF for money.”

“I noticed as well, sir.”

“I really hope you have no need for those weapons or shielding systems, Colonel. I pray you don’t.”

“So do I, sir. Though hope is not a strategy, so we must be prepared for any possibility.”

“Quite right.”

“I’ve put together a briefing for you, sir, on our status.”

“I only have one question, Colonel. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then no further briefing needed. I’ll be monitoring your progress reports back to Canaan, and I urge you to be as diplomatic as possible at all times and extend all courtesies to Admiral Seville.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if there’s any possible thought in your head about sticking it to that guy because of your history with him, you’d better dig a big hole, bury that thought in it, and put a rock over it. Are we clear, son?”

“Yes, sir.” David had already come to that conclusion, but having MacIntosh remind him one more time of the stakes did little to reassure him.

“I have the utmost confidence in you, Colonel. Now get out there, bring Seville and his lot back to Canaan without incident, and help us win this war without firing a shot.”

David sat slightly taller in his chair at MacIntosh’s words. “Yes, sir!” he replied with new determination.

“Godspeed, son. MacIntosh out.”

The picture blinked off, leaving David alone with his thoughts. While it comforted David to know that MacIntosh had confidence in his abilities out there all alone, being the man responsible for bringing Seville in safely and without causing a diplomatic incident scared David to his core. David projected confidence. It was part and parcel of being the commanding officer of a powerful warship. But there were times, when he was alone and lost in his thoughts, that doubts surfaced, making him question so many decisions and the things he had to do. Can I do this? and Am I really the best person for this job? were common thoughts. As he normally did when those thoughts surfaced, he said a short prayer in Hebrew, asking God to give him strength and wisdom.

Focusing on the task at hand, he resolved to take one problem at a time. As Major Pipes had told him, “Work the problem. Solve one issue at a time then move on to the next one, son.” The next item on his list was to get the ship launched successfully and meet the Destruction in two days.

The chime on David’s office rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Come.”

The hatch opened, and Sheila strode into his office.

David smiled. “Have a seat, XO.”

“Not for long, I’m afraid,” she said dryly, plopping down.

“If we do well on this assignment, I think they’ll let you stick around in the XO’s chair.”

“I’m trying to stay focused on the task at hand rather than the possible future.”

“One problem at a time.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m here.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want to be sure you’re in the right state of mind for this.”

“For making peace with the League?”

“For meeting the man who killed your father and to make peace with him as well as the League.”

“I’m okay, Sheila.” He invoked her name for a more personal discussion.

“David, I want to believe that, but the way you’re acting shows something different. You’re putting up a great front, but I’ve known you for too long to believe the show.”

“I’m fine, Sheila. Seriously.”

She was silent for a moment. “I’m praying for you and your ability to do this.”

“I’ll take it. Even from a gentile.” David cracked a smile.

“Ha,” Sheila replied before turning serious once again. “I don’t understand why they sent Seville. Of all the people in the League, they’ve got to send him. Why not a neutral representative?”

“They are sending a neutral representative, actually. A diplomatic minister named Carl Jenner. Intelligence suggests he’s part of a faction within the League that has been pushing for peace.”

“Interesting.”

“How are we looking in terms of final readiness?”

“In what way? All departments briefed ready at our last staff meeting.”

“I know, but… are they really ready?”

Sheila nodded empathically. “Yes. I’ve never seen a more motivated group of people than the ones on this ship, from the military personnel to the civilians. They want success, and they’ll do just about anything in their own power to make it a reality.”

“I’ve seen it, too, but I wanted to hear it from you to be sure.”

Sheila pointed at the clock on the wall behind David. “I think it’s about time for us to get up to the bridge and get this show on the road, sir.”

David stood and offered her a smile. “That, it is.” He straightened his uniform before stepping from behind the desk. “How the heck did we end up in charge of the largest warship in the Terran Coalition?”

“Right place, right time?”

David laughed. “More like wrong place, wrong time. I thought the weight was heavy with four hundred fifty personnel and a two-hundred-fifty-meter destroyer to command. This is something else entirely.”

“Isn’t it the least bit fun, though?”

“Oh, it’s like nothing else I’ve ever done. I wish my father could see it. While the Cohens have long served in the military, I’m the first to make it to colonel in at least a hundred years.”

As they walked out of the hatch and into the passageway that led to the gravlift, Sheila commented dryly, “Don’t let it go to your head, Colonel, sir.”

David laughed again. “Oh, that’s what you’re around for, XO.”

“Deck One,” David said to the voice-driven computer that controlled the lift.

“Deck One acknowledged, Colonel. Identity confirmed.”

“I just realized I missed morning prayers again,” David said.

“There’s midmorning, lunch time, and evening prayers to make up for it.”

“Very funny, XO.”

Sheila turned on a dazzling smile. “I’ve been giving you crap about how many times you have to pray a day for nearly twenty years. You didn’t expect me to stop now, did you?”

“I could order you to.”

Sheila snorted. “Good luck, Colonel.”

“However this turns out, Sheila, I’m glad you’re with me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend to have with me as my second-in-command.”

Sheila smiled. “I’m glad I can be here with you.”

Two armed Marine guards stood at the apex of the passageway, and as soon as David and Sheila exited the gravlift, both of them delivered crisp salutes, which David and Sheila returned smartly.

He paused and extended his arm, gesturing to the hatch. “Ladies first.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Going to hold the door for me too?”

“I know better than that.”

They both pulled their covers on as they walked onto the bridge.

As they did, Master Chief Tinetariro piped up, “Colonel on deck.”

Ruth, Hampton, and Taylor were already at their assigned bridge stations, awaiting the launch. The enlisted personnel stood and braced to attention along with the standing officers. Sheila stiffened as well, saluting David.

David’s hand came up to his brow in the practiced motion of a salute. He looked around the bridge of his ship, which was manned and ready for the first time. After a moment, he finished the salute and announced, “As you were.”

Immediately, the crew went back to their assigned stations.

David glanced back at Sheila. “After you, XO.”

Sheila smiled and took her station. David followed and took his seat in the CO’s chair. David looked toward to Hammond and Ruth, who sat directly in front of the CO and XO at their respective stations. “Navigation, what is our launch readiness?”

“Sir, our reactor is powered up and operating normally. We are standing by to release moorings and umbilicals from the shipyard,” Hammond said.

“Conn, TAO. Ship defensive systems and weapons are ready—at least the weapons currently functional—and all weapons magazines are full,” Ruth added.

“So aside from a lack of fighters, we’re settled. And let’s hope our contractors can get our remaining weapon systems functional in short order.”

David glanced down at his command seat and punched the code for MC1. The tone for it swept the ship, and he spoke down toward the microphone built into his seat. “Attention, all hands. This is your commanding officer. We are about to launch on the most important mission that any of us have ever attempted. That mission is to escort the League back to Canaan so that peace talks may commence. This is a day I doubt many of us thought would come. I know that I can count on all of you over the next several days to give one-hundred-fifty-percent effort as we continue to make repairs and gain control over our systems.”

David paused. “Very well. All hands, man this ship and bring it to life,” he said, invoking the formal words to launch a ship. “Navigation, release all moorings and umbilicals.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Releasing,” Hammond stated.

It took a few minutes for the thick tubes connecting the ship to the drydock to detach from the Lion’s hull. The airlock also detached and retracted, and dozens of small shuttles pulled back.

“Conn, Navigation. We’re now free of all moorings and umbilicals, sir,” Hammond said.

“Navigation, all ahead, dead slow until we clear the drydock.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Bringing main drives online.”

The Lion slowly began to move forward, and David could feel the g-forces pressing him back into his seat, fighting the inertial dampener fields that protected the crew from sudden acceleration and deceleration forces. They crept at first but gained momentum, and the shipyard faded from the forward view screen, leaving open space in its wake.

Taylor cleared his throat. “Conn, Communications. Receiving a message from CDF command. ‘Good luck, Godspeed, and be careful.’”

“Communications, acknowledge the message. Navigation, a set of rendezvous coordinates are pre-loaded. Set our Lawrence drive to them.” He double-checked their distance from Canaan to ensure they were past the Lawrence limit—attempting to open a wormhole too close to a gravity well caused cascade failures that could end with the ship’s destruction.

“Conn, Navigation. Coordinates set. Lawrence drive at maximum power.”

Fighting down a wave of adrenaline, David leaned forward. “Navigation, open the hole. All ahead full.”

A massive artificial wormhole opened in front of the Lion of Judah—a construct of the Lawrence drive. The Lion’s sublight ion engines flared at maximum thrust, and the ship flew straight into the center of the swirling mouth of the wormhole. In a moment, she disappeared, and the wormhole closed behind her.

22

After the transit through the wormhole, it took several hours to fully recharge the massive Lawrence drive within safe parameters to avoid stressing the drive. Taking advantage of the downtime, David decided to go to the synagogue, also known as a shul to Orthodox Jews. The Lion held four different chapels: a synagogue, a Christian church used by all dominations, a mosque, and one used by other faiths, including a small group of secular humanists that met once a week to discuss the happenings of life and how they interacted with the universe. David had been remiss in visiting the synagogue since he had come on board, and he’d conducted the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers in his office or quarters. But David longed to spend a few minutes around other believers, reciting the prayers of the Talmud, so he decided to simply make the time to join them. As he walked into the synagogue, he took his tallit gadol, or prayer shawl, out of his bag. A simple cloth carrying bag, it was embroidered with his name in Hebrew and was a gift from his mother at his bar mitzvah.

David put the shawl over his head and took a seat in the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

But an older man immediately made his way to David and sat next to him. “Allow me to introduce myself, Colonel. Rabbi Erez Kravitz.” He was somewhat squat, appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, and looked the part of a rabbi. He wore a prayer shawl as well as a CDF duty uniform. His rank insignia showed he was a lieutenant colonel in the chaplain corps.

“Pleased to meet you, Rabbi. I’m David Cohen,” he said softly, not wishing to disrupt the other people praying.

“Ah yes, the commander of our vessel,” Kravitz said with a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m just here as a Jew, Rabbi,” David said, again trying to deflect any attention.

“Come now, Colonel. You are too modest.”

“Just trying to live what I believe, Rabbi.”

“Are you Orthodox?” Kravitz asked, surprise in his tone.

“My parents were both Orthodox, and I am as well. I’ve had to make some compromises for CDF regulations. I think you’d find I line up pretty well with the Modern Orthodox movement,” David explained.

Kravitz looked at him intently. “What compromises might those be, Colonel?”

David fought to keep a grimace from crossing his face. He didn’t want to get into a religious debate with the rabbi aboard his ship, and nearly any time he attempted to explain his motivations, it caused a debate. “As I’m sure you know, Rabbi, while there are broad allowances for religious exemptions for conscripted soldiers, a career officer such as me must maintain CDF personal appearance and grooming regulations. As well, I’m often unable to observe Shabbat and many of our other holidays.”

Kravitz nodded thoughtfully. “I would be curious as to your reasoning for this position, Colonel.”

David flipped a mental coin and decided to explain. After all, it would be nice to have a friendly relationship with the only rabbi within a few million miles. “I apply the principle of Pikuach Nefesh to my service in the CDF,” he said, referencing the principle in Jewish law that the preservation of human life overrides virtually any other religious consideration. “Given that we are at war, and my calling appears to be that of a soldier, I must discharge my duties to the best of my ability.”

“I understand. I know that must be a difficult road to follow, but I commend you for your efforts to remain true to HaShem.”

Inwardly, David breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rabbi.”

Kravitz patted David’s arm. “Please, come back as often as you can. I think where we are going, we’re going to need as much help from HaShem as He can possibly give us.”

“I agree, Rabbi. Wherever our mission will take us, we cannot succeed without His help.”

Kravitz nodded then stood and walked back to the front of the synagogue.

David bowed his head for the next ten minutes and recited prayers from the Talmud before interjecting a plea to God. In Hebrew, he said, “Adonai, please bless this mission. If it is Your will, please let there be peace, even with these vile and evil people. Too many have died, and I have so much blood on my hands. If it is not to be, please spare the lives of my crew and let them return home safely to their families.”

David raised his head after finishing his prayer. He never asked God, spoken as HaShem in conversation or Adonai in prayer, to allow him victory. He asked only that the lives of those under his command be saved, for he felt it was to embrace vanity to ask for victory. Standing and walking to the back of the room, he removed his prayer shawl and returned it to the bag his mother had given him. Exiting the synagogue and returning to his duties, he felt refreshed for the first time in several days.

* * *

“It’s good to see you back in this role, Antonov,” Pierre Seville said as he shook his glass of brandy. He was fleet admiral and overall commander of the League of Sol military expedition to claim the territories of the Terran Coalition. His flagship, the League Starship Destruction, was on its way to meet up with the new CDF ship the Lion of Judah. What an… odd name for a warship. No doubt based on religious superstition.

Zehnya Antonov, the captain of his flagship, took a drink from his own glass as he peered intently at Seville. “I’m glad to be here, Admiral. Your plucking me from retirement was, well… it was the answer to an old man’s wish.”

“Farming carrots and goats not doing it for you?”

“No, Admiral. I felt useless. Discarded.”

“The same as I did during my rehabilitation.”

“How’d you get out of it?”

“Much the same as you,” Seville replied, smiling. “I had a benefactor that saw my potential.”

“You are too kind.”

“Nonsense. The League needs good officers.” And above all, I need loyal followers. “It’s a matter of matching the right people to the right positions.”

“I live to serve,” Antonov said and finished his brandy.

“Your family, how are they?”

“Far better now that my wife doesn’t have to crawl on her hands and knees for root vegetables for us to eat.”

Seville’s face turned red. “An outrage.”

“Sir?” Antonov asked with fear his voice.

“What our political commissar overlords do to cover their ineptitude.” At the terror that crossed Antonov’s face, Seville grinned. “Captain, do you really think I don’t have my quarters swept daily for surveillance systems? There’s nothing to fear here.”

“How do you do it, sir?” he whispered

“Simple. I watched how they play each other then copied it. I obtained leverage over the political officer—Colonel Strappi—who was assigned to my first ship after my rehabilitation. I allow him to think he has some level of power. I remind him when he oversteps that I could ruin him in an instant and cause him and his entire family to be put to death. He is weak. I am strong. It is the way of things. I’ve even ensured that relatives of his received plum postings they couldn’t otherwise qualify for. It pains me to say it, but he’s quite a sentimentalist—for a morale officer, that is.”

“Regardless, Admiral, I am in your debt.”

“Tell me. What of the crew? What do they think about our mission?”

“Some desire peace. Some hate the Terrans as much as they hate us. Some don’t care and simply do their jobs,” Antonov said, shrugging.

“And you?”

“It would be nice to see an end to this war, Admiral. I’ve seen so many young ones under my command die in service of the state. It would be refreshing to see them grow old and have families of their own.”

Seville poured another glass of brandy for each of them. “You may count me among those who hate the Terran Coalition,” he said, briefly touching his right eye. “They took my eye. More accurately, a single Terran who longed to die as a martyr took it from me. His son is coming to meet us.”

“I didn’t realize, Admiral.”

“Or did he?” Seville mused. “If Colonel Lemieux had an IQ higher than fifty, we would have defeated the Terrans twenty-seven years ago. I wouldn’t have lost my eye.” Rage built within him. “The hundreds of thousands of League sailors who’ve died would’ve lived.”

Antonov sat mute, the look of fear back.

“It was not to be, Captain. Instead, I took the fall and spent fifteen hard years planting crops in the semiarid dirt. It might have been enough to break most men but not me. I was even more motivated to destroy the Terrans when I returned to the fleet.”

“Of course, sir,” Antonov said finally.

Seville let his face go slack. “I also live to serve the League. If the Social and Public Safety Committee wants peace, then I will gladly carry their ambassador and do everything in my power to achieve it. In my heart, I may want to kill every last one of them, but I will do my duty. We can do nothing less as members of the League.”

“At least we’ve survived this long, Admiral.”

“Yes. Yes, we have. It’s growing late. We’ve an eventful day in front of us tomorrow.”

Antonov seemingly got the hint instantly and stood. “Thank you again, Admiral.”

“Do your duty. Do it well, Captain. Make me proud. Dismissed.”

23

After climbing up the last rung of the ladder, David entered the central space traffic control area in the massive fighter bay of the Lion. He stood next to the station where the air boss sat along with her assistant, the miniboss. Titles that had carried over from generations of naval aircraft carriers were at home on the Lion.

David watched dozens of fighters and bombers from the CSV Pat Tillman land in the bay and taxi to assigned parking stations. An hour or so earlier, the Pat Tillman had jumped into the transfer point and started ferrying over its entire combat-capable fighter wing. The Pat Tillman was an American-designed Wade McClusky-class light carrier with roughly eighty combat spacecraft. Like most other carriers in the CDF fleet, Wade McClusky-class carriers possessed little in the way of anti-ship weaponry and formed the nexus of a Carrier Space Battle Group, known as a CVSBG.

Curious to know who Pat Tillman was, David was surprised to find out that Patrick Daniel Tillman was a professional football player from Earth who was killed in combat during the early twenty-first century. After spending a few minutes reading his biography, David realized that the Americans revered Tillman because he’d volunteered to join the military after achieving every possible success in life. He had insulated himself and his family from any want or need, yet he’d still answered the call to serve.

David continued to reflect on that as the fighters touched down. After all, in the Terran Coalition, regardless of nation-state and with only a few exceptions, every eighteen-year-old male or female was drafted into either the military of their nation-state or the CDF. Men were drafted for four years. Women were drafted for three. The compromise in mandating women to serve a shorter period than men had been key to gaining passage of the Universal Draft Act in the early years following the appearance of the League of Sol. The idea of a society in which only a few made the choice to serve struck David as a foreign concept.

As the final fighter came to a halt, David took his leave of the flight control crew, walking out of the control room and down a stairway to the flight deck. As he did, the memory of his first meeting with Amir leaped into his mind.

* * *

Back in the early days of his assignment to the CSV Audacious, which housed just over forty starfighters of various types, David had had to clean up a number of personnel problems. The ship had morale issues that the CDF had decided to remedy by changing out most of the senior leadership. As a result, he arrived at a time of flux.

A couple of weeks after his assignment and in the middle of trying to retool the ship’s crew, he met one of the fighter squadron commanders during an informal dinner in the officer’s mess. That particular pilot was notably short, even compared to the typical fighter jock. Space inside a cockpit was at a premium, which made excessive height a problem. The man sitting down across from him had no reason to worry.

“Greetings, Major Cohen.”

David glanced at the pilot’s uniform, taking in his rank and name—Captain Hassan Amir. He also had his space combat wings, had served for at least fifteen years, and came from the planet of New Arabia. A patch under the Terran Coalition and country flag position bore the Crescent and Star, the symbol for Islam.

“Peace be unto you, Captain Amir,” David said, recalling a traditional Arabic greeting he’d learned in social studies class so many years ago.

“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,” Amir replied, the Arabic phrase for “And unto you peace,” which was the traditional answer. “I am the squadron commander for the 237th fighter squadron.”

“Ah yes. You guys style yourselves as The Black Knights, right?” David asked with a smile.

“Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about some issues with the pilots, sir.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be going through the air wing commander, Captain?”

“Well, sir, he informed us today he’s been relieved of duty and will be departing the ship tomorrow morning. As of now, we don’t know who the replacement is.”

“I see. In that case, what can I do for you?”

“To be blunt, sir, our squadrons don’t get enough training. The ship’s budget never seems to have room for live-fire training exercises, and our pilots aren’t as good as they ought to be as a result.”

“Which leads to increased casualties.”

“Exactly, sir. I was hoping that as our new executive officer, you could help.”

One of David’s duties as the XO was to allocate the budget for the ship. Amir’s seeking him out made sense. “Let me dig into it, Captain. I can’t make promises, but I’ll do everything in my power to get the pilots the training they need.”

Amir nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“New Arabia?” David asked, inclining his head toward Amir’s country patch.

“Yes, sir. Palestine territory.”

When the great diaspora had occurred, many of the different former countries and nationalist groups that made up the initial landing at Canaan set out for the local stars and founded their own planetary colonies. The Jews had done that with New Israel, and many groups of Arabs had come together under the banner of New Arabia.

“New Israel myself,” David replied, attempting to strike up a rapport with Amir.

“I have to confess that I don’t know why, when my ancestors had their pick of planets, we ended up on one that is mostly desert,” Amir deadpanned.

David laughed. “We did the same thing. New Israel is a pretty tough landscape. We’ve terraformed it quite a bit, but still. It’s not Canaan, New America, or the British colonies.” They accounted for sixty percent of the Terran Coalition’s population and industrial output.

“I guess tradition does not die easily.”

Nodding, David replied, “No, it doesn’t. It’s kind of amazing how all the countries from Earth fanned out. Israel, America, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Great Britain, Australia, and even Canada. They all have their own planets now.” David took a sip of water. “So, how’d you end up in Space Combat Command?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a pilot, ever since I was a little boy. When it came time to be drafted, I instead applied for and was accepted to the flight academy. Fifteen years later, here I am. My wife is a pilot, and my oldest daughter wants to be one as well.” He beamed with pride.

“The family that pilots together stays together?”

Amir laughed. “Very true, Major.”

“It’s David when we’re not on duty.”

Amir extended his hand to David. “Good to meet you, David. Likewise, I am Hassan when not on duty.”

David shook the outstretched hand warmly. “Good to meet you, too, Hassan.”

* * *

David smiled as the memory faded and Amir’s fighter set down on the flight deck. The canopy popped open, and Hassan Amir slowly climbed down from the fighter. Seeing David, he promptly saluted him. David returned it crisply. Amir removed the helmet of his flight suit and hung it off his utility belt. “Permission to come aboard, Colonel Cohen?”

David grinned at his old friend. “Granted, Colonel Amir.”

Amir returned the smile. “I’m happy we are able to serve again. I must confess that I was thrilled to hear of your promotion. I cannot help but wonder where the will of Allah will take you.”

Amir was a very devout Muslim, the equivalent of an Orthodox Jew. David had learned from reading books on history that Jews and Muslims hadn’t always had the best relations, but in the twenty-fifth century, that had been left in the past. David and Hassan might not agree on every piece of their religious belief, but they respected each other and were good friends.

“I wonder, too, where God will lead. But for now, we’ve got our orders. Tell me—how much of the wing did you bring over?”

“Three squadrons of fighters, though one is at half strength, and one squadron of bombers. That’s all the Tillman had left after our last series of engagements.”

“Well, that’s the joy of having to patch all this together. We don’t have enough stores to support a full sixteen squadrons anyway. I’m hopeful we won’t need your services,” David said, looking around the bay.

“So, command is sending us out for this…” Amir cleared his throat. “Peace mission?” He asked the words as if they were distasteful. “Do they expect the League to offer us an acceptable deal?”

David shook his head. “There are no details yet as to what they’re offering. We’re heading out to bring them in as quietly as possible.”

“I’d like to request permission to have CSP set up during the rendezvous.” Combat Space Patrols were flights of two to four fighters providing close-range support to the carrier in case of sudden attack.

“We can put a few fighters on ready five, but I’m under strict orders not to provoke the League in any way. We are to remain passive unless attacked.” David softened his expression. “I know this is a lot to process, Amir, but we need this to work. You know it as well as I do.”

“I’m not eager to make peace with liars, murderers, and cowards, David,” Amir said harshly.

“Nor am I, but I’d rather make peace with them now than continue to send generations of our people off to fight and die if there’s a way to make it stop with honor.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“How is Nasir?” David inquired of Amir’s oldest son.

Amir flashed a smile. “He is well, as is Natara,” he said of his daughter. “She has done especially well and recently transferred to a flight squadron on the carrier Illustrious.”

“That’s great news, Amir. And Fatima?”

Amir let out a laugh. “She’s good. Has a job teaching civilian pilots now. Makes three times what I do too.”

“You know, you’ve done your duty, old friend. Maybe you should think about joining her instead of flying into death’s door on a daily basis.”

“It is my calling from Allah.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad you’re following that calling on my ship,” David said. “Now, let’s get your pilots settled, and I’ll give you the nickel tour of this rather impressive ship.”

* * *

Sheila walked around the officer’s mess, searching for an empty table, or at least one with few people at it. The last forty-eight hours had been grueling for everyone on the ship, and she was simply exhausted from giving orders, examining problems, and trying to resolve them. Finally, when she found an empty two-person side table, she set down her tray of food, took a seat, and arranged her silverware.

She lowered her head to pray. “God, thank You for the food I am about to receive, for the good health I enjoy, and for those I serve with. Please bless the peace talks before us and allow us to be Your means to bring peace to the Terran Coalition and our citizens. Amen.” When she raised her head, Sheila saw the smiling face of Major Elizabeth Merriweather staring at her.

“Major, may I join you? There aren’t any other open seats.”

Suppressing a desire to groan, as she’d just wanted a few minutes of peace, Sheila instead put on a smile. “Of course, Major. Please sit. I’d be happy to share some food with you.”

After sliding into the other chair and putting her food down, Merriweather, too, bowed her head to pray silently. “Thank you, Major Thompson.”

“Please, it’s Sheila.”

“Elizabeth. Glad to meet you less formally.”

“I don’t recall seeing an officer serving as program manager to a civilian before. How’d you end up working with Dr. Hayworth? I thought that kind of job was reserved for civilians and contractors.”

Merriweather laughed. “Oh, I placed in the ninety-ninth percentile of the CVAB. After that, I was offered a full scholarship to the engineering school of my choice. I ended up in advanced composite research, which led to working with Dr. Hayworth to create a new composite substance capable of handling the stress of antimatter reaction.”

Sheila blinked a few times. “Wow. I thought I was doing good at the seventy-fifth percentile. How long have you been working with Dr. Hayworth?”

“Going on five years now.”

“You’ve put up with that guy for five years? You must have the patience of a saint.”

“Or Job, perhaps,” Merriweather joked. “He’s not bad once you get to know him.”

Sheila openly stared, skeptical. “Seriously? That man crawls under my skin.”

“Oh, I think he enjoys trying to get into everyone’s heads and make them mad. There’s a heart of gold in there. It’s just hidden beneath layers of armor.”

“He doesn’t make fun of your religion?”

“He used to, but after I set some firm boundaries, he backed off. Dr. Hayworth’s atheism is based on his intellect. He doesn’t believe there’s a scientific argument for God. I think after his wife died, he really hardened his position. I do know he adored her. I doubt he’s ever really gotten over her death, and the few times we’ve discussed it, I learned that she was religious, and all her family and friends prayed for a miracle that never came.”

“I think that makes us all wonder sometimes. Why is one saved and not another?”

“Sometimes you just have to accept it on faith and keep going. Still, I enjoy working with him, regardless of his temperamental personality. He’s easily the single most intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

“You sound as if you feel bad for him.”

Merriweather furrowed her brow. “Don’t you?”

“I suppose, on some level, but he’s such a jerk. Kind of hard to feel sorry for that.”

“He’s not always a jerk. Sometimes he’s one of the most considerate people I know. But even if he was… love those who hate you. Bless those who curse you and pray for those who mistreat you.”

“Fellow Christian?” Sheila asked. Neither she nor Merriweather had a religious emblem on their respective uniforms.

“Methodist, born and bred. With a Jewish father.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Best of both worlds. Christmas and Hanukkah!”

Sheila laughed. “I see you will get along with the rest of us just fine.”

Merriweather smiled in return. “I look at it like this: If I show even in an imperfect way what I believe and how it changes my life to Dr. Hayworth, maybe it will cause him to question where he is, and perhaps God will be able to speak to him again. Someday, maybe he can find his way back to his faith. Getting through to him any other way is impossible. All I can do is try to show him.”

“Show, not tell…. as Colonel Cohen would say.”

“Exactly.” Merriweather smiled again, glancing down at her food. “We’d better eat up. I’ve got at least five more hours of reactor diagnostics before we perform our final jump.”

“Five hours? Don’t you have computers to run automatic diagnostics?”

“Well, we do. But Dr. Hayworth doesn’t trust them because the machine learning algorithm hasn’t been fully trained yet.”

“Trained?” Sheila asked.

“Yeah, because of the limitations on wide-ranging artificial intelligence, we have to create narrowly tailored AIs that can only do one task and have specific inhibitors to prevent them from evolving.”

“I never quite understood all of that.”

Merriweather shook her head. “I kind of get it, working with some of the advanced AIs we have access to. Even the scaled-down version is scary, in a way.”

“Why?”

“Let’s say you have an AI that has one mission. For instance, optimize production of a type of ore. If it determined that human beings had the type of metal it was trying to get more of in our bodies… it could decide to kill us all to process our bodies for the substance.”

“I’d never thought of it like that. That’s pretty freaky.” Sheila scrunched her nose. “You get to work on some interesting stuff.”

“That, I do.”

“Have you been to the chapel on board yet?”

“Not yet. I’m going to try to this Sunday.”

“I like the chaplain. I’ll send you an invite to the service I go to.”

“Okay. I’d love that.”

“Great.” Sheila bit into her cheeseburger with gusto, glad she’d taken the time to make a new friend.

* * *

Several hours later, David walked onto the bridge of the Lion. It was as busy as ever. The senior staff was at their stations, and Sheila was perched in the CO’s seat, as she currently held the conn.

Master Chief Tinetariro announced David’s presence loudly. “Colonel on the bridge.”

“As you were,” David said quickly as the few crewmen and officers not strapped into their stations came to attention. “XO, I have the conn.”

Sheila stood and moved over to the XO’s chair. “Aye, aye, sir. Colonel Cohen has the conn.”

David took the seat and pulled up his command-status screen. “One jump remaining, XO. Are we ready?”

“Yes, sir. The contractors have managed to get all our weapons online along with our defensive systems. We’re not ready for deployment, but as far as the current mission, we’re good to go and at one hundred percent effectiveness.”

David grinned. “Well, I’ll be. I think Hanson owes me lunch, because he bet me the contractors couldn’t get it done in time, and I said they could.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Sir, we don’t pay for lunch on board.”

“Point taken. Maybe I’ll tell him to get us invited to the chief’s mess.”

The officers always wanted to be invited to the chief’s mess, as it had the best food on the ship.

Looking at Hammond, he asked, “Navigation, what is our jump-capability status?”

“Sir, Engineering is currently checking our Lawrence drive for any problems before we make the final jump, just in case we have to jump back out quickly.”

“Very well. TAO, tactical-systems status?”

“Sir, all tactical systems are running normally. Hoping we don’t need them, sir.”

David allowed his smile to grow just a bit.

Sheila interjected, “We have a squadron of fighters on ready-five alert status as well, sir.”

“What about our Marines?” David asked.

“Colonel Demood has them ready to go, sir. I don’t see the League trying to board us, though.”

“Stranger things have happened, XO.”

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive is fully charged and ready for our final jump. Coordinates have been confirmed.”

David looked at Sheila as if to say, No backing out. Turning forward to the tactical and navigation stations, he commanded, “Navigation, commence jump.”

Hammond inputted the proper commands into her console. “Aye, aye, sir. Jumping now, sir.”

It took a few moments for the massive Lawrence drive generators in the stern of the ship to open a stable wormhole. David marveled at the science and theory behind the Lawrence drive. It was astounding to him that they could go incredible distances in the blink of an eye. As the ship accelerated its sublight engines, the Lion flew into the maw of the wormhole and exited out the other side several seconds later. There was a slight delay before the sensors would snap back on, and those few moments could be perilous if a trap waited on the other side.

God help us if Seville’s there with a fleet to destroy our newest ship. David gripped the hand rests of his chair, waiting for the LIDAR systems to come online.

“Conn, TAO. Two contacts on scope. One Behemoth-class League dreadnought, designated Master One. One Type-D League transport, designated Master Two.”

David’s gaze stayed forward. “TAO, scan Master One. Are its weapons and defensive systems charged?” he asked.

Come on, Goldberg.

“Conn, TAO. Master One’s weapons are offline, and it’s running with shields and point-defense fields deactivated. They’re scanning us as well.”

David let out an audible sigh. “So far, so good. They wanted to talk peace, so let’s talk peace. Communications, open a channel to the Destruction.”

After what seemed like an eternity, in which the bridge crew waited on pins and needles, Taylor spoke. “Conn, Communications, we’re receiving an audiovisual signal, sir.”

David drew himself up as tall as he could. “Communications, put them on my personal viewer.”

The view above David’s chair came to life with the signal from the Destruction. It centered on a man who wore the gray utilitarian uniform of the League of Sol. His rank insignia identified him as a fleet admiral, a flag officer who had four stars. His lips were curled up in a slight smirk.

“Greetings, Coalition vessel,” he stated. “I am Admiral Pierre Seville, commanding the overall League of Sol military presence on this side of our frontier. You are our escort, I presume, on this mission of peace to your nation?”

David put on his absolute best poker face. “This is Colonel David Cohen, commanding the CSV Lion of Judah. We have been sent to escort you to Canaan.”

“I see. I suppose my superiors aren’t the only ones guilty of not considering the best-named ship to send on a peace negotiation. Nevertheless, we are ready to begin our journey. We have a gesture to make first, however, Colonel. Diplomatic Minister Jenner wishes for us to immediately transfer custody of one of our prisoners of war, a Captain Adriana Barrigo,” Seville replied.

David couldn’t quite place Seville’s attitude. It seemed that Seville was darkly amused by the entire situation. Adriana Barrigo had been a POW for at least ten years. She was the daughter of a previous Terran Coalition president. At the time, it was a significant blow to morale within the Terran Coalition. There were whispers that she had been offered early release but refused, as was the code of all POWs.

He decided to take a gamble on creating a rapport with the League admiral. “I will have a crew standing by to receive your shuttle, Admiral.” He paused. “Would you, Minister Jenner, and your officers be interested in having dinner aboard the Lion during our voyage to Canaan?” David asked.

Sheila looked at David in shock.

“Why, Colonel, that is a splendid idea,” Seville said with a smile. “We could meet tomorrow before our final wormhole jump to Canaan.”

“I think that would be fine, Admiral.” Thinking over protocol, he realized that since there was a band aboard, they’d have to play both national anthems. What have I gotten us into?

“Very well. I look forward to meeting you face-to-face at that time, Colonel. In the meantime, we will transfer Captain Barrigo to you by shuttle before we jump to the next set of coordinates,” Seville said, nodding at someone off screen. His image then disappeared, and the screen went black.

“Sir?” Sheila openly stared at David. “Are we really having them over for dinner? I realize we want to help the process along, but… are you sure?”

“It’s the right call, XO.”

“But that’s not just any old League admiral. That’s Admiral Seville,” she continued. “He—”

“Killed my father. I know that. As you were, Major.”

Sheila seemed to know she had crossed a line. “Yes, sir,” she said in a more subdued tone to try to make up for it.

Silence followed. No one acted like they’d heard, which was proper. David looked forward, putting it out of his mind and concentrating on what would need to be done to welcome the League VIPs.

24

As the communication screen snapped off, Admiral Pierre Seville sat back in his flag chair. Technically, Zehnya Antonov was the commanding officer of the vessel and doubled as Seville’s fleet captain, but Seville was going to be on the bridge and in command for the endeavor. Savoring the interaction with the Lion’s commander, Seville enjoyed playing the game. In fact, he lived for playing it. He had been the leader of the League’s initial attack on Canaan, and after he finished serving his time in forced early retirement, he’d been rehabilitated and given leave to ask for an assignment. Without hesitation, Seville had asked to take over the League military operations against the Terran Coalition.

Seville reflected on the Terran Coalition’s survival for nearly thirty years in a war against the League—mainly because the League couldn’t bring its overwhelming superiority in numbers to bear, as it had to protect its internal holdings. An initial raid on Sol in the opening year of the war had convinced the civilian government to keep much of their reserves in the Orion arm of the galaxy. The Terran Coalition’s citizens would say that God was on their side, but Seville thought them a bunch of children who feared the monster under the bed. The truth was that if the League ever summoned the balance of its home defense fleet against the Coalition, their military would wilt and die.

The League wouldn’t bring its fleet to bear because everything in the League had to go through fifteen committees before any decision could be made. Ah, socialism. Such a noble experiment but a failure as a government-leadership model. Someday, Seville would fix that. He’d previously had plans that, once the Terran Coalition was defeated and he was hailed as the hero of the League, he would use that power to overthrow the old men of the Social and Public Safety Committee to create a new League based on authoritarian power. But that would have to wait.

“Admiral, I’m not sure about this. Exposing our officers to direct contact with these capitalists and religious zealots…” Colonel Strappi said, breaking Seville’s train of thought.

Seville suppressed the urge to slap him. He hated political officers with a passion, but he tolerated Strappi for one reason—the man could be reasoned with and lacked enough connections to truly hurt Seville. “Do you truly have no faith in the loyalty of my staff, Colonel?” Seville asked, in a mocking tone. “Don’t worry. There is no harm in having dinner before we get to Canaan. Are you not the least bit interested in what these Terrans are like?”

Strappi would not be deterred. “But if your people are not loyal…”

Seville cleared his throat. “They are completely loyal, Colonel. Do not concern yourself with it.”

“Of course, Admiral.”

Seville was amused by how Strappi acted like a cur and backed down, even with his body language. “Now, I suggest that you remember your manners and tact, as you will be joining us for this dinner.”

“What of the prisoner, sir? I’m unsure of the minister’s order to let her go so soon. The things she might say…”

Seville again suppressed the desire to backhand Strappi. “It will be fine, Colonel. Everything is going as we expected.”

Taking the hint, Strappi excused himself and walked away. Seville gazed over his bridge, thinking about how much he looked forward to meeting the son of the man who’d taken sight from one of his eyes and defeated an armada. That would make the entire trip worth it.

* * *

The medical bay of the Lion of Judah, referred to interchangeably by the crew as medbay, sickbay, or the doc shack, was massive compared to those on other ships David had served on. Its technical specifications said it could handle two hundred acute cases at once and even more subacute injuries. The Lion also had several doctors along with many nurses and nursing assistants.

At the moment, though, only one patient was in the medical bay: Captain Adriana Barrigo. She sat on the edge of a high-tech hospital bed with various sensors and scanners poring over her vital signs.

David stood behind Dr. Tural and asked quietly, “What’s her condition, Doctor?”

“She’s at the peak of health physically. Well-fed, constant exercise, and no signs of injury recently,” Tural muttered.

“Recently?”

“There are older injuries here and there, but the newest is between eighteen and twenty-four months old.”

“What about mental health?”

“That’s not my field, Colonel. But professionally speaking, I’ve worked with many liberated POWs and service members who have PTSD. I believe she’s disturbed in some way. That’s natural in this situation, and I’d like to establish a rapport with her as a physician first before exploring any mental issues.”

David nodded. “I understand, Doctor. I would like to know what they’ve done with her and the others, though. We haven’t seen a POW released by the League in nearly eleven years.”

Tural furrowed his brow. “Why, sir? They will all be home soon enough, Colonel. I don’t think dredging up trauma from the last ten years will help.”

“I need to understand what we’re dealing with from the League, Doctor. We all need to know if there’s anything else going on here.”

Tural frowned. “Colonel, please be gentle with her.” He gestured for David to proceed.

David walked over to her bedside. As she was in uniform, she jumped off the bed and came to attention.

“As you were, Captain,” David said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, sir.” It wasn’t so much that she was looking at David. She was more so looking through him. “I… I’m happy to be going home, sir.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Captain. But I must ask—what was it like, especially recently?”

Tural frowned and started to open his mouth to protest the question.

Before he could form the words, though, Barrigo spoke. “It wasn’t easy. The League has had the attitude of ‘adapting’ us to life as League citizens. We get settled in prisoner colonies and are made to study League history and society. We weren’t mistreated recently, at least not badly. There were incidents sometimes, especially if we resisted them.”

“Resisted them how?” Tural asked.

“Refusing to recite the League oath of allegiance. Questioning their government’s decrees and decisions. Showing overt and public religious devotions. Really, anything that strikes the morale officers as being rebellious against what they call the Authority of Society.” Barrigo shrugged. “You get put into prolonged isolation and forced into restricted diets. If they’re really mad at you, they send you to the pit. Sensory deprivation tanks and environmental alteration chambers. At least... they did.”

David frowned, but felt he needed to press on. “So what do they do now?”

“Nothing.” Barrigo breathed in for a moment. “About sixteen months ago, the League had a change of leadership internally. Nothing too public. The same people are in power as before, but the balance of power inside the government shifted away from the League’s Social and Public Safety Committee to the League Defense Council. That is, the military and security services. I don’t know why. Our guards and caretakers tend to be tight-lipped about that part. All I know for sure is that the League’s defense establishments are getting tired of the war and how the politicians were running it.”

That comment brought curious looks from both David and Tural. “So this peace offer is... genuine?” David asked.

“Yes, very much so. The League is desperate for peace. Even with all their secrecy toward us, our sources in the prison colony have talked about tax riots all the way back to Earth itself. Alien races along their far frontiers are starting to exploit their need to keep ships facing us. If the League doesn’t make peace with us soon... I think it’ll be torn apart.”

David nodded. “Thank you, Captain, for clearing things up a bit. I’ll leave you to recover with the doctor.”

Tural walked with David into another section of the medical bay.

“There’s no way she just knows all that from interaction with the guards,” David said.

“I would have to agree with you, sir,” Tural replied. “But why plant that information in her? They have to know we won’t trust it.”

David shook his head. “I’m not sure, Doctor. I find it interesting that she allowed them to release her ahead of the longest-serving POW.” At Tural’s quizzical look, he continued, “There’s a code of honor among all POWs. They won’t allow themselves to be released out of order, as it were. First in, first out, basically.”

Tural nodded. “I think I read something about that in a briefing—that the three thousand POWs in the transport are the longest held. She is in that group.”

“True, but it doesn’t add up. All that matters is the League signing a legitimate peace treaty with us, so you won’t see me complaining too much about the order of POW release. Just as long as we get all of them.”

“I’m not sure I see what you do, sir. But I can’t disagree that she needs more help. So I’ll continue to have her health monitored and get a counselor to follow up.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” David said and turned to walk out of the medical bay and back to his duties of preparing for the diplomatic dinner the next night.

As he stretched his neck from one side to the other, David pondered the situation. This just doesn’t make sense. The League’s never been interested in peace. We’re being told exactly what we want to hear. Now I sound like one of those crazies on the holonets. Focus, David. Play this out and do it the right way.

25

David woke up the next morning at 0430 hours and went about his morning routine. First, he went to the officers’ gym for a forty-five-minute workout, then he showered, shaved, and readied himself for the day. Since it was the first full day in space and underway, he’d decided to attend the morning flag ceremony, which was held aboard every CDF ship in space at 0800 hours in the largest cargo bay. The flag was raised, the anthem was played, and honors were rendered. For reasons he couldn’t readily explain, seeing the flag raised and saluting it with his brothers and sisters in arms reminded him that he was part of something bigger than him. The feeling sustained him, even when things looked bleak. For him, the flag of the Terran Coalition stood for freedom and justice, ideas that were worth fighting for, just as his father had taught him.

At 0730, he stepped out of his office and began making his way down the 1.2-kilometer-long vessel. Even with automatic grav lifts, it took a while to walk from the bow of the ship to the stern cargo bay.

As David entered the cavernous bay, a sea of people were inside—hundreds of CDF soldiers and some people in civilian attire, whom he assumed were contractors.

A sharp-eyed chief petty officer noticed David and announced his presence. “Colonel on deck.”

The assembled crewmen and women braced to attention to acknowledge him.

“As you were.”

The crowd relaxed and began to line up in rows facing the portable flagpole in the middle of the bay. David remembered there was a small Marine Corps band aboard, hastily assembled for rendering honors when the League delivered the former POW, Captain Borrego, and he hoped they would be in attendance for the ceremony. We do love our pomp and circumstance.

At 0755, the 1MC came to life with an announcement from Sheila. “Attention, all hands. First call. First call to Colors.”

Over the next couple of minutes, even more crewmen and officers streamed into the bay. David was sure that at least eight hundred people all told were stacked into the cargo bay.

A few moments before 0800, the Marine Color Guard paraded into the bay, carrying the flag of the Terran Coalition, the battle flag of the Coalition Defense Force, and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps flag, followed by the band. At 0800 sharp, the bugler sounded the call for attention, and all uniformed soldiers went rigid in compliance.

A moment after the bugle call ended, the Marine band began to play the anthem of the Terran Coalition. David and everyone else in uniform brought their hands to their brows and sharply saluted the colors for the duration of the anthem while the civilians placed their right hands over their hearts. A separate Terran Coalition flag was attached to the flagpole and slowly hoisted to full mast. As the sound of music ended, everyone lowered their hands.

The drum major called, “Colonel, would you lead us in the pledge of allegiance, sir?”

David stepped forward and, still facing the colors, came to attention and brought his hand to his brow. His words echoed loudly across the cargo bay. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Terran Coalition and to the republic for which it stands. Many nations, under God, with liberty and justice for all.” Modeled after the American pledge of allegiance, it was known by virtually every citizen within the Terran Coalition. Repeated every morning by every child in school, at every national event, and at the swearing in of politicians, it contained the core of what the Terran Coalition stood for.

Lowering his hand to his side, he nodded at the drum major, indicating for her to continue.

“Thank you, sir,” she said before ordering the bugle call for “Carry On.”

At that, the assembled company began to depart.

David decided to stay behind and talk to the band. “Master Sergeant Poirier,” he said, addressing the drum major. “An outstanding performance.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen a Marine Corps band on a ship before.”

The trace of a smile graced her face. “The first time I’ve ever been on a ship underway to play music anyway.”

David raised an eyebrow. “I must confess I have little knowledge of how the band works. Have you been deployed as well?”

“I have—three times. That bit about ‘Everyone is a rifleman’ isn’t just a slogan, sir.”

“Well, glad to have you on board. Though I’m not entirely sure I’m looking forward to us playing the League’s anthem on our flight deck.”

She made a face. “Nor am I, sir.”

David laughed. “Well, hopefully, it will help move us toward a lasting peace.”

“I hope so, sir. I really do. We all do.”

“Carry on, Master Sergeant, and thank you for a beautiful ceremony,” David said, preparing to leave.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she responded as he turned and walked out of the cargo bay.

26

Inside the expansive officers’ gym on the Lion, TCMC Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood took out his stress on a punching bag. Stepping back a moment for a breather, he saw Lieutenant Robert Taylor at a nearby station, practicing as well. He watched him for several seconds before Taylor dropped his hands from the bag. Calvin decided to strike up a conversation.

“Pretty good for a comms geek, Lieutenant.”

Taylor flashed a smile at him. “I grew up fighting, Colonel. My father made master guns, not to mention some uncles, an aunt, and a few older cousins in the Marines.”

“But you became a comms geek?” Calvin asked with a chuckle.

“Well, you go with your strengths. I’ve always been good working with technology and signals.” Taylor made a face. “And I’ve already heard all the tech-geek jokes from my cousins, so you don’t need to bother.”

“Hey, I’m too experienced to pull that crap on you computer nerds. Had too many of you guys pull me out of the fryer. So, do you think this is going to work out? This peace stuff?”

“Well, who knows? The League’s never talked peace before, but after all these years, you never know how they’re feeling about it.” Taylor shrugged. “I mean, think of how they acted toward us, attacking almost out of the blue, and you wonder how many other civilizations and nations they’ve pissed off and who want a piece of them. I know they’ve angered the hell out of the Saurians as it is.”

“Oh really? Guess you learn those sorts of things listening to conversations for a living all day.” Calvin smirked at him. “So, want to show this hard-ass Marine officer just what your cousins taught you? I’m tired of smacking punching bags around.”

“Sure, Colonel. I’ll even go easy on you. Wouldn’t want you to break a hip trying to keep up with a young guy like me.”

“A wise guy too. Damn, you must have had an interesting family. Well, let’s hurry up so I can kick your ass in time for a shower before meeting our guests.”

They walked over to a sparring mat and faced off.

Calvin asked, “Are we boxing or doing martial arts here, Lieutenant?”

Taylor smiled. “Anything you want, Colonel.”

With that, Calvin stepped forward and threw a standard sucker punch at Taylor, thinking that the young man was all talk and little experience. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. Taylor dodged the punch by stepping to one side and brought his arm down sharply, striking him on his elbow, inflicting pain. A couple of Marines watching the exchange in passing interest stopped what they were doing and stared.

“Ah, martial arts, it is, then.” Pretty quick on his feet for a comms guy.

Calvin closed the distance between them and delivered a series of karate moves that Taylor deftly met blow for blow. Taylor then stepped into the attack, grabbed Calvin’s right arm, and flipped him onto his back.

Standing over him, Taylor stuck his arm out. “Best of out three, Colonel?”

Calvin grabbed the arm and helped himself up. “Sure, but we’re doing pugil sticks next.”

* * *

David stood in front of the mirror in his main cabin, which was more of a small apartment than a stateroom. Having served on smaller ships for most of his career, he was used to the cramped quarters of destroyers and frigates. On the Lion, however, junior officers’ staterooms were larger than his old commanding officer’s quarters on the Rabin.

Above all else, he hated wearing dress uniforms. The dinner called for full dress, and David’s uniform had to be immaculate. He also had to wear his entire set of campaign ribbons, pin insignia, and medals. He found the whole display ostentatious, as he tried to downplay any rewards or recognition he received.

David had turned down three Purple Hearts. The award had carried over to the CDF from the American military and was given for being wounded in combat. I don’t deserve medals for minor wounds that barely slowed me down. The men and women who lost limbs, suffered irreparable brain damage, or were maimed for life… they’re the ones who deserve it. Not a fleet officer in full control of his body.

He fastened the block of campaign ribbons to his right, his medals to his left, followed by his Space Warfare Officer and Command-In-Space insignia. David considered the pieces of metal, each containing a memory and reflected on his mixed feelings. On one hand, he was proud of his efforts for the cause, one he believed in with every fiber of his being. What wasn’t lost on him, though, was that he had been rewarded for killing his fellow man. That fact caused him tremendous guilt, and it tore at him every time he let it catch up with him.

Fighting the League and killing those who fought for it was required, but most of its soldiers were conscripts brainwashed into fighting, and that those who wouldn’t fight were shot. That didn’t stop him from looking down at his hands and seeing blood when he reflected on his past deployments.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he tried to focus on the task before him, ensuring as much as he could that the killing stopped.

The chime to his door sounded.

“Open.”

Sheila strode into David’s cabin, put together and ready to go. “It’s almost time. Done preening yet?”

“You know I hate dressing up.” Sometimes I wonder at how she teases me. It’s almost like she—likes—me.

Sheila laughed. “I’d enjoy it more if these uniforms were remotely flattering.”

David couldn’t stop himself from snickering, which got him a withering look. “How are preparations going?”

“The mess stewards are preparing the meals using VIP fresh food for once. The honor guard and band are in place. I have to tell you—no one is interested in hearing the League anthem played.”

“I prefer the basic frozen meals.” David finished fastening his final medal. “Getting invited to the chief’s mess is even better, though.” He turned to face her. “Are you okay, Sheila?”

“I’m just worried, David,” she said. “I know you’re hoping this turns out for the best, but now they’ve got the man who killed your father here.”

“I know, but I’m not upset about it. He was the guy in charge, sure, but not the man who ordered the attack,” David replied, but that wasn’t entirely true. As much as he tried to suppress it, he couldn’t push out of his mind that Seville was the evil that had caused twenty-seven years of war. He ought to pay for what he’s done.

“David, I know you better than that. I know you’re bitter about it, but you can’t let that get to you.” Sheila put a hand on his arm. “We need peace, David. You must remember that.”

“How can I not think about the fact that my father died ramming his flagship… and the tens of thousands other fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters that perished at that battle, Sheila?” David snapped, pain and frustration breaking through his carefully crafted mask. “I think we’re negotiating openly with a pack of liars who didn’t give us much of a chance for peace before they sent an armada to try to destroy our home world! I’m thinking of all the good men and women I’ve met who are dead because the League kept attacking us even when we didn’t do a damned thing to them! I think there can’t be any peace at all with the League, so long as they believe they and they alone have a right to decide how people should work, believe, and live!”

“David—”

David brought his hand up. “And above all else, Sheila, I’m thinking about how much I hate doing this job.” When she made no move to continue, he followed through. “I don’t mind being a soldier, though I always thought I would. I never liked being told what to do and when to do it, but I ended up being a pretty decent soldier. What I do mind is having to go out every day and killing other people, even ones as bad as the League. Killing our fellow man... that’s not something we should be able to do lightly, even if we think they deserve it. We have no right to take life as easily as we do. The press of a button, and thousands die? We talk about being many nations under God. One of the Ten Commandments: You shall not murder. Oh, we hide it. We justify it, but when one of our bombs goes off target and kills a hundred civilians, what does that make us? What have we become?”

He took a breath before he continued, “So yes, I think this is going to go nowhere. I think the League’s going to keep trying to grind us under until one or both of our nations are destroyed, but it doesn’t matter, because if we can have an end to this killing, even if just for a few decades, that will be well worth having to sit across the table from the man my father died fighting and eat a peaceful meal with him. Oh, I’ll even gladly toast his health, if only it brings an end to this war. And we’re going to be late if we don’t get moving.” He forced an uncomfortable grin and walked toward the door.

Sheila followed him, frowning while her mouth hung open.

I might have overdone it a little there. Okay, David. Time to get your head on straight.

27

In the cavernous flight deck of the Lion of Judah, the ship’s company had rolled out actual red carpet for the League delegation. The flags of the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol were displayed on poles off to the side. The Marine Band and the honor guard, also Marines, were in full-dress uniforms consisting of bright-red jackets, polished belts with gold buckles, smartly pressed white pants, and spit-shined black shoes.

Looking over them as he strode onto the flight deck in his own full-dress uniform, David chuckled. Leave it to the Marines to always be the best dressed.

He made his way over to the drum major and complimented her on the band’s appearance. “So are we entertaining the president of the Coalition or the admiral in charge of the League invasion of Canaan?”

Poirier came to attention along with the rest of the Marines. It was customary on a ship that the commanding officer, or any officer, for that matter, had honors rendered upon first meeting of the day by any given enlisted personnel. The Marines, though, seemed to love to salute at the drop of a hat.

“As you were,” David said to the band.

They all relaxed. The way Marines moved together like a human wave had always impressed David. He doubted he would have succeeded as a Marine.

“I’d much rather it be the president, sir, though he would have his own band,” she said with a smile.

“The President’s Own, right?”

“Yes, sir. It’s the most elite group of musicians in the Coalition Marine Corps. Someday, I’d love to play with them.”

“Never give up on a dream. Before you and the band disembark, I’ve got to hear how you decided to join the Marines to be in the band.”

Poirier laughed. “I get that a lot. It’s a fun one.”

“We’d better finish getting ready. I understand that the League likes to be punctual. Something about the trains running on time. Carry on, Master Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

David strode over to the rest of his senior officers: Sheila, Hanson, Calvin, Amir, and Dr. Tural. Master Chief Tinetariro was present, as well, with a contingent of enlisted crewmen in dress uniforms.

“Ready to go, ladies and gentlemen?” he asked

Sheila spoke for the group. “Oh, yes, sir. We’re just longing to have dinner with a shuttle full of League officers. Anything for peace, right?”

An announcement filled the flight deck. “League shuttle arrival in thirty seconds.”

“Okay, everyone, look alive!” David’s voice carried across the deck.

The Marines braced to attention, as did the enlisted crewmen. David and the rest of the officers took their positions as the League shuttle glided into the bay and set down gently next to the red carpet. After a moment, its side door opened, and a small honor guard strode out and goose-stepped down the ramp. Admiral Seville led the way, followed by several officers in full-dress uniforms. A man in civilian attire came toward the end. David recognized him as the diplomatic minister, Jenner. As the last Leaguer exited the shuttle, Master Chief Tinetariro piped them aboard.

The gunnery sergeant in charge of the TCMC Honor Guard announced in a formal voice, “Arms, port.”

The Marines snapped their gleaming rifles to port arms.

“Attention, colors!” he bellowed.

At that, the band stood and began to play the anthem of the Terran Coalition. Every member of the TCMC and CDF stood at attention and saluted. Admiral Seville and his officers also brought themselves to attention but did not salute. Minister Jenner placed his hand over his heart in what David thought was a show of respect.

When the final bars ended, the band paused before they began to play the anthem of the League of Sol. Admiral Seville and the rest of the League contingent brought their hands up to their brows and smartly saluted their colors. David and everyone else silently stood at attention. Standing here, listening to this music, is tearing me up inside. I can’t begin to believe the Marines aren’t hating this even more than I am. He forced himself to remember that it was a small indignity for peace, and well, the League had just rendered honors to the Coalition flag, so maybe it evened out. The League anthem ended, and the band sat down again.

Seville stepped forward. “Permission to come aboard, Colonel?”

“Permission granted, Admiral.”

“Allow me to introduce Diplomatic Minister Jenner, leader of our peace delegation, Colonel Strappi, the morale officer aboard the Destruction, and Fleet Captain Antonov, the commanding officer of my flagship.” Seville’s face betrayed little emotion.

“A pleasure, gentlemen,” David said and shook hands with the League officers and Minister Jenner. “Allow me to introduce my senior staff: Major Sheila Thompson, executive officer, Major Arthur Hanson, chief engineer, Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood, Marine expeditionary force commander, Lieutenant Colonel Hassan Amir, flight wing commander, and Dr. Izmet Tural, our chief medical officer.”

Seville politely shook the hands of the senior officers as David introduced them.

“If you will follow me, sir, we have a dinner prepared in your honor,” David said as a way of wrapping up the introductions.

“Thank you, Colonel. I would be delighted.”

As the League delegation walked away with David, Seville took the lead.

* * *

One of the nice things about a gigantic ship, David pondered, is that it has various rooms and venues a smaller destroyer simply doesn’t have.

On the Rabin, if they’d ever had a VIP aboard, which was unlikely, the wardroom would have been used for a dining hall. But on the Lion, they had a purpose-built dining room for guest VIPs. Following procedure, the Lion’s senior officers were in attendance, and Admiral Seville had brought his senior officers and staff. Not quite one for one, as the regs suggested, but it was close enough.

David had reluctantly allowed Dr. Hayworth to join the dinner after Major Merriweather had suggested repeatedly that Hayworth was highly thought of, even in the League. Maybe he would find some common ground with them. The last thing David wanted was the temperamental doctor causing problems in what needed to be a productive discussion.

David was seated at the head of table as the commanding officer, Seville was at the other end, while the various officers were intermingled with one another. The League’s senior diplomat, Minister Jenner, sat to David’s right.

Mess stewards brought in the first course of the meal as small talk was exchanged.

Jenner said to David, “Colonel, I must confess that we were shocked you were sent to escort us.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Why is that, Minister?”

Jenner offered a small smile. “Our intelligence service was not aware that the Victory Project was this close to completion. It took us by surprise.”

David returned the smile while the wheels turned in his head. Why would he let that slip? “Perhaps the League’s intelligence gathering within the Terran Coalition isn’t what it used to be,” he said, trying to inject some humor and wondering if what Jenner had really meant was they were astonished that David had been chosen to command the ship provided for escort, given the history between his father and Seville.

“Perhaps,” Jenner said with a chuckle. “Tell me, Colonel, how do you view our chances for peace?”

Sheila, who sat several chairs down on the left, overheard Jenner’s question and peered at David with a cautious expression.

“I’m not sure, Minister. I’m hopeful that we can come to an agreement. No one in their right mind wants to get up each morning and go kill people.”

Jenner nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Our propaganda says that all members of the Coalition Defense Force relish combat and long to die as martyrs for God.”

Sheila took the opportunity to interject, seeing David’s dark expression. “Well, Minister, I think that’s some bad intel. We put an overwhelming emphasis on not dying.”

Calvin spoke up. “We Marines have another way of putting it. It’s not our job to die for our country. Our job is to make the other guy die for his.”

Those who’d heard him, including Jenner and David, chuckled.

“Point taken, Colonel Demood,” Jenner said. “Our own Marines have a similar saying. I think that sentiment traces all the way back to Earth.”

“I believe the earliest known expression of it is from a senator from ancient Rome. Cicero, if memory serves,” David replied.

“You know Earth history, Colonel?” Jenner asked, seeming surprised.

David couldn’t help snickering. “Yes, Minister. It’s in our school studies, and I took several courses on Earth history during my time at the Space Warfare College. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve read on the subject. History is fascinating to me.”

Jenner turned to the captain of the Destruction, Zehnya Antonov, who was several chairs down. “It appears that much of our intelligence is wrong.”

Calvin, who sat to the left of David, said sotto voce to him, “No wonder we keep kicking these guys’ asses.”

David smirked, even though he detested cursing.

As the mess stewards finished setting down the first-course salads, he cleared his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen, honored guests,” he said in a voice that carried over the rest. “It is CDF custom that before a meal, we offer thanks and ask for blessing from our Creator. I realize that we have in attendance those who do not believe. You should feel no obligation to join us.” He glanced at Rabbi Kravitz. “Rabbi, please lead us in a blessing.”

Wardroom tradition dictated that the prayer was offered in the faith of the commanding officer, and since David was Jewish, he had invited the rabbi to the dinner.

Kravitz made eye contact with several around him before bowing his head. The rest of the CDF officers did the same. Jenner joined in out of respect. The League officers simply looked at each other while Dr. Hayworth made a display of rolling his eyes.

“Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, by Whose word all things came to be. Bless this food and our purpose here.”

As he finished, those who’d bowed their heads raised them once more.

David picked up his glass and took a sip of water. “Thank you, Rabbi.”

“If I may, Colonel...” Seville interjected. “I propose a toast for this fine occasion. The first time in almost four hundred years that our two sections of humanity have sat down together to discuss peace.”

Several heads turned toward David.

He offered a diplomatic smile and raised his glass. “To peace then, Admiral.”

“Indeed. To peace for all mankind, regardless of ideology.”

Seville ignored the stern look from Strappi as the assembled officers took a drink in unison.

“These years of war have been a terrible waste of life and treasure, you understand. The League can no more sustain this bloodshed than you can, I would imagine, and it is time to end the fighting. It is time for peace.”

“Peace,” David said, nodding. “I only hope it’s something that lasts, instead of the usual peace.”

“The usual peace, Colonel?” Jenner asked.

“A peace that is just to give everyone time to prepare for the next war.”

Silence broke out at the dinner table.

Sheila scowled at David, as if to say, “What?”

Seville, however, peered at David for a moment before he laughed. “Ah, wonderful wit, Colonel,” he proclaimed. “Such cynicism. It breeds so well in people of our occupation, doesn’t it? Having death as a constant companion, never knowing when it will claim a friend, a lover, or even oneself.”

“It’s an occupational hazard, Admiral,” David said, determined not to show any overt weakness.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, after all. All soldiers have to live with death hovering over their shoulders.” Seville took a drink then put his glass down. “Hopefully, we can soon exorcise that specter or at least reduce it.”

“It will be a proud moment for us all when peace is restored,” Sheila said. She exchanged glances with David before continuing. “A just peace that we can build on to something greater.”

“A reunion of all mankind under one banner is our ultimate goal,” Zehnya Antonov stated. “Humans together under a banner of brotherhood and solidarity.”

“Brotherhood and solidarity must ultimately mean tolerance toward each other’s differences,” Dr. Tural said. “Otherwise, what you have is not brotherhood. It’s the tyranny of the majority or whomever holds power.”

“Some things can be tolerated, and others cannot,” Strappi replied. “A united mankind cannot easily tolerate those who wish to divide it. Such is an oxymoron and can lead to that very division.”

David cleared his throat. “Our two… branches of humanity have very different ideas about the state, Colonel. We, the Terran Coalition, collectively believe that freedom is the cure to most things that ail us. The state should offer a framework for its citizens to thrive within but not control their lives.”

Seemingly undeterred, Strappi pressed on. “In the League, by defining the roles of our citizens and the rules they must follow, we give them freedom to thrive.”

“But who decides what can be tolerated and what cannot?” Dr. Tural asked. “Does any person have the wisdom to do such things?”

“Our people trust the State with such duty. The State, after all, represents the accumulated will and knowledge of the people.”

“And if the State is ever wrong?” David asked pointedly.

“The State is the embodiment of the people. It can’t be wrong,” Strappi insisted. “And it is preferable to allowing the superstitious to decide such issues. For instance, you, Dr. Hayworth.”

Hayworth looked up from his food.

“Even in the League, your brilliance is known, as is your refusal to hew to the nonsense of those around you. Unlike them, we would not treat you as a moral inferior to be badgered or pitied but as a man of rational thought and brilliant invention.”

Silence reigned over the table for several seconds, with uncomfortable glances everywhere.

Hayworth finished chewing a mouthful of salad and gazed intently at Strappi. “How would you treat me, Colonel Strappi, if I refused to aid your government’s R and D projects but insisted on having my own? How would you treat me if I proclaimed publicly that Committee Chairman Pallis is a senile old warmongering idiot and that the entire Social and Public Safety Committee should be tossed out on its ass?”

Strappi’s face contorted, but before he could speak, Jenner intervened. “It appears, ladies and gentlemen, that there are quite a few things still dividing our sections of humanity,” he said carefully, “but we can still live peacefully regardless of this.”

“We live in hope, Minister,” David answered quietly.

“Oh, I think the colonel has brought up something important,” Hayworth said, drawing a nasty look from David. “The League offers a Faustian bargain.”

“What the heck is that?” Calvin whispered to David.

“Deal with the devil,” he replied.

“They supposedly offer their citizens everything yet operate a data-and-AI-driven police state that monitors all aspects of everyone’s life. You can’t walk too fast in the League without getting in trouble,” Hayworth continued.

“And the Terran Coalition doesn’t have its own rules and controls, Doctor?” Strappi asked. “In a predominately religious society, aren’t you a second-class citizen? The only difference is that the League’s rules come from the state, while yours supposedly come from an imaginary figure in the sky.”

Jenner cleared his throat loudly. “I think we should all move on.”

“Agreed,” David said, letting out a sigh. “My mother always said to avoid politics and religion at the dinner table.”

The injection of humor into the tense situation seemed to do the trick. After a few chuckles, Hayworth and Strappi were silent, while the others made small talk.

For the rest of the dinner, which consisted of a main course followed by desserts and coffee, they avoided touchy subjects. David decided by the end of the dinner that while he would never trust Seville and he couldn’t stand Strappi—after all, League political officers were hated even by their own—Jenner seemed to genuinely want peace.

“Minister, you seem to be invested in this peace process. If I may, why?”

“The truth is, Colonel, I lost two children to this war. Both of my sons.”

David sat back slightly. Great. I just stepped in it.

Before he could respond, however, Jenner continued, “I don’t blame you for their deaths, or anyone in the Coalition Defense Force. After all, we fired the first shots of the war.”

David raised his eyebrows. “I was under the impression that the League felt we started the war, Minister,” he said neutrally.

“There are state-issued facts, then there is truth, Colonel. We both know what the truth is. I’m tired of war, and the faction I represent within the League Social and Public Safety Committee is tired of war too. We’re here to forge peace. I hope your people share that goal,”

“While I’m sure there’s a person or two in the Terran Coalition that can’t see past the hatred for the League, I think nearly everyone else prefers a just peace with honor at this point,” David said.

“I hope your leaders are of the same mind as us,” Jenner replied and raised his glass with a smile.

“Perhaps the best way to deal with this is just put a couple of weary soldiers in the same room and let them come to a compromise.”

Jenner laughed. “The war would be over in fifteen minutes.”

David smiled and took a sip from his glass.

Soon the dinner was over.

Seville said, “Colonel Cohen, I must commend you on being an excellent host. We will take our leave now, but know that this gesture on your part is truly touching to me.”

As Seville and his officers stood, David and his did as well.

“Thank you, Admiral. I wish you a good journey, long life, and good health,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sheila rolling her eyes at him.

Seville, too, kept a neutral expression. “You, as well, Colonel.”

David walked over to stand beside it the hatch and shook the hands of all the League contingent as they left.

When Seville reached him, he paused. “Colonel, do you mind if I pay my final respects to Captain Barrigo? I found her conduct in captivity to be… inspiring. Always staying true to her oath to resist.”

David turned to Dr. Tural.

He nodded. “A moment, Admiral.”

Tural walked over to the wall monitor, with David and Seville following. He tapped a key on it and said, “Patch to medical bay.” After a moment, the image of a nurse popped up. “Nurse, is Captain Barrigo available?”

“Yes, Doctor. One moment.” The nurse moved out of the image.

A couple of minutes later, Barrigo stepped into view.

Seeing her, Tural said, “Adriana, this is Admiral Seville. I’m not sure you’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” Barrigo said.

“I would just like to thank you for playing a role in the peace to come, good Captain,” Seville said. “And please, do give greetings to your father on my behalf.”

“Greetings to my father?” Barrigo seemed to think for a moment. “Oh, yes, of course, Admiral. I would be honored.”

“Thank you, my dear. May you have a pleasant life.” Smiling, Seville nodded to Tural.

“I’ll be along shortly to check on your status, Adriana,” Tural assured her, after which he turned the monitor off.

As Seville exited the room, Sheila walked up to David. “What was all that about, you think?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure, but it was weird.”

David and Sheila, along with the TCMC honor guard, walked silently back to the shuttle bay with the League contingent.

Seville was last to board. He looked back at David. “It took me a few minutes, Colonel. I recognize your name now.” Seville touched under his right eye, which was obviously artificial. “I’m quite sure your father would be proud of you.”

David frowned. “I like to think so,” he said.

“A man... fighting only to defend his home and family. No ideology, no beliefs, simple self-defense of what one cherishes.” Seville cracked a smile. “Far purer motives, I would say, than some have fought for. But I must be off, Colonel. Have a pleasant day, and thank you for your hospitality.” He stepped into the shuttle and watched David intently as the doors slid closed.

Sheila said, “You look tired. Shouldn’t you take some downtime? We’re due to jump into Canaan soon.”

“I plan on it, XO. Put our relief on the bridge and get some rest. We need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

28

Later that evening, David reviewed reports in his quarters, wrapping up the copious amounts of paperwork required for the trip. He was relieved to be out of his formal dress uniform. The ship had jumped about an hour previously and was in a standard parking orbit of Canaan, closely escorting the Destruction and the transport. He had tried to sleep but was unable to get his mind off the meeting with Seville and the conversation over dinner with Jenner. He’d thought about asking Dr. Tural to prescribe him something to help him unwind, but he would be groggy the next day and didn’t want to have to explain the side effects. At least, that was usually what happened when he took something to bring sleep.

Looking over personnel transfer requests, he kept absentmindedly playing through the night’s conversations. Noting that he would never invite Hayworth to another diplomatic function, David kept going over Seville’s comments, looking for weaknesses and strategies. He believed that you had to truly study an enemy and get into their head to counter them effectively, and Seville was to be handled no differently, peace treaty or not.

Something bothered him about the evening, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was pretty sure Jenner was genuinely interested in peace. Seville, on the other hand, oozed a kind of fake charm that put every gut feeling David had on battle stations. He replayed his interactions with Seville over and over, and something struck him as odd about Seville’s request to talk to Captain Barrigo. Something just wasn’t right. He zeroed in on the phrase “And please, do give greetings to your father on my behalf.”

He navigated on his tablet to the guest list for the reception on Canaan for the League peace mission. Barrigo’s father was on it.

“So why would Seville want to give his regards to her father through her?”

David decided to go down and talk to Barrigo again. He jumped out of his chair, reached for his khaki service uniform, and quickly put it on. David brought the comm device on his wrist up to his mouth. “Cohen to Tural.”

A moment later, he received an answer. “Dr. Tural here. What can I do for you, Colonel?”

“Are you in the medical bay, monitoring Captain Barrigo?”

“No, I left Dr. Bhatt in charge.”

“Meet me in the medical bay, then, Doctor.”

David left his room and hurried down the passageway. He brought his comm device back up and made another call. “Cohen to bridge.”

The command duty officer answered, “Bridge. Go ahead, Colonel.”

“Bridge, monitor all communications by the League ships. Quietly.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Cohen out,” David said and strode toward a gravlift. He took it to deck seven, which housed the main medical bay.

Sheila was waiting for him outside the lift.

“What’s going on, sir?” she asked. “The command duty officer called me and alerted me to your orders. Is something wrong?”

“Something’s going on. Seville’s comments were off. I can’t put my finger on it, but it just felt wrong.”

“What did?”

“Seville’s desire to contact Barrigo. Why? She’s going to be at the ceremony and reception. They could talk there. And giving his greetings to her father? Javier Barrigo’s supposed to be there too.”

Sheila eyed him, clearly bewildered. “Maybe Seville’s not attending.”

“He’s on the list as well. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s the head of the military detachment to the mission. No, I think that was some kind of code.” David’s mind raced as he bounded through the passageway.

Sheila tried to get in front of David to slow him down, but he blew right past her.

“Code for what? Listen to yourself, David. I think you’re getting paranoid just because… why? Seville maybe thinks he won’t get to see Barrigo and her father, so he calls her while here and asks for her to say hello for him? Yeah, it’s weird, but we can’t go derailing the peace process.”

“Or it’s a prearranged signal for her to attempt some kind of sabotage on our ship,” David pointed out. “Either way, I have to be sure. I need you on the bridge to make certain nothing untoward happens.”

Sheila glared at David. “You’re actually going to accuse Adriana Barrigo of being a League agent? Because of... this?” She stepped in front of him again and blocked an internal bulkhead door, forcing him to stop walking. “Listen to yourself, David. You’re sounding like one of those nutjobs who rant on the holonets about ‘spies’ and ‘saboteurs’ being everywhere!”

David set his jaw. “Listen, Sheila. It doesn’t feel right. All my instincts are telling me something is wrong here.” Seeing she wouldn’t be budged, David sighed. “I’m not going to call up Seville, ranting and raving about treachery, okay? Nor will I jeopardize the peace process just in case I’m wrong about this. But remember, she’s been a League prisoner for almost a decade now. There have already been cases of long-time POWs being recovered and turning out to have become League sympathizers. Who knows what kind of brainwashing or psychological conditioning they could have subjected Barrigo to?”

“But what purpose would it serve? The League is already succeeding against us militarily. They don’t need some fake peace offer.”

“They may be winning on the battlefield lately, but every time they start another spring offensive, they gain for a while, then we push them back, typically after the Saurians donate some ships to us under that lend-and-lease program they run. Or a Matrinid battle group happens to find a League fleet in its space and destroys it. Our allies may not be fully involved in our war, but they help us enough to keep the League in check.” David paused, his gaze drilling into her. “Canaan is under-defended because of this summit coming up. The only ships there are mostly laid up in the docks, their crews reassigned or on home leave. The Home Defense Fleet will be on standby, but all the League needs is a few shots to annihilate entire cities and kill millions. Think about what would happen if they successfully attacked Canaan. Our morale would collapse. It would bring the war directly to our capital and prove that no one is safe.”

Sheila took a half step back. “Promise me you’ll do nothing we can’t take back, David.”

“I’m not nuts. You’ve trusted me for years, Sheila. Trust me one more time. I just want to have a conversation with her and have the doctor do some further tests.”

Sheila stepped to one side to let him pass. “Orders, sir?”

“Get to the bridge and send Colonel Demood and some Marines down to the medical bay. I want two sentries posted from now until we get her off the ship.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be on the bridge.” Sheila turned to go but stopped and turned back toward him. “David, I pray to God with everything in me that you’re wrong.”

“So do I, Sheila. So do I.”

David almost ran toward the medical bay and reached it before Calvin and the Marines. Walking into the room, he glanced around quickly, looking for the medical personnel. As he took in the scene, he immediately knew he had been right. Barrigo was gone, and the on-duty medical personnel, including a nurse and Dr. Bhatt, were on the ground, unconscious. He rushed over and checked the pulses of both and found them to be strong and steady. David picked up the nurse and placed her on a nearby vacant bed. He fumbled through starting the diagnostic program.

Dr. Tural strode into the medical bay. “By Allah, what happened here, Colonel?”

“I found them like this, Doctor. Help me get Dr. Bhatt up.”

They picked up Dr. Bhatt and put him in a bed as well.

“Can you wake one of them up, Doctor? Barrigo is gone, and we need to know what happened.”

Tural checked Dr. Bhatt’s vitals. “I believe I can wake him with no adverse effects.” He injected Bhatt with a vial of liquid.

After a few moments, Dr. Bhatt began to wake.

David stepped closer to the older man’s bedside. “Dr. Bhatt, this is Colonel Cohen. Can you hear me? Who attacked you?”

Bhatt looked up, dazed. “Colonel… Doctor…”

His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

David shook him. “Stay with me, Doctor.”

“Barrigo attacked us,” Bhatt got out quietly. “She drugged both me and my nurse.”

While Bhatt spoke, Calvin and several Marines jogged into the medical bay.

“Sir, reporting as ordered,” Calvin said.

“Captain Barrigo attacked the medbay personnel a few minutes ago and fled.” David’s face hardened. “I have reason to suspect she is possibly acting as a saboteur for the League.”

Calvin’s face twisted like someone had shoved a knife between his ribs. He quickly hid the expression, however, and answered, “Understood, sir. I’ll order my squads to break out combat armor and begin a deck-by-deck search of the ship.”

“Use the ship’s masters-at-arms for the search. I need the rest of your Marines ready for a boarding action.”

“The POW transport,” Calvin answered. “I’ll bring up what we know of that ship type from our database and put together a boarding plan.”

“Very well. Move out, Colonel.”

Calvin braced to attention before departing with the Marines.

David could feel Dr. Tural’s piercing gaze on his back. He turned around to face him. “Something wrong, Doctor?”

“You’re a little quick to judge, Colonel,” Tural said. “It’s not unknown for rescued POWs to suffer psychological episodes due to a trigger.”

“Maybe so, but given the circumstances, I’m just trying to be on the safe side. No matter what happened, she’s one of us, and I want to give her as much leeway as I can.”

“Bridge to Colonel Cohen,” Sheila called over David’s comm.

He raised the comm on his wrist. “Go ahead, Major.”

“Internal sensors haven’t found her yet. I’ve got Hanson and Merriweather working on fine-tuning the system. We’re not sure whether it’s messed up, or we just don’t quite understand its quirks yet.”

“Understood. I’ll be joining the search teams.” David tapped a button and cut the call. “Doctor, I’ll have the master-at-arms post men here in case she doubles back. If you see her...”

“Call you and security immediately,” Tural finished.

David nodded and walked out of the room. He paused at an emergency weapons locker long enough to input his command code and retrieve an energy-pulse sidearm. Forcing aside the implications of the situation, he told himself to solve one problem at a time. He hoped there was an explanation for the events of the last thirty minutes that didn’t involve the League staging the entire thing.

* * *

The League’s peace delegation, consisting of half a dozen ambassadors, aides, and diplomatic ministry officials, boarded a specially outfitted shuttle that had been stripped of all weapons in the cavernous flight bay of the Destruction. Admiral Seville strode in through the nearest doors and made his way over to Jenner. Inn tow, as always, was the political officer, Colonel Strappi.

“Greetings, Minister,” Seville said.

“Admiral, Colonel,” Jenner replied.

Seville continued, “Are you preparing to head to the surface, Minister?”

“Yes, Admiral, I am. Have you reconsidered joining me on the initial shuttle down to Canaan? The Saurian delegation has requested your presence again.”

“I don’t think it’s wise for me to join you, Minister. I represent fear and terror to these people. I came in the night with my fleet of a thousand ships twenty-seven years ago. I took their invincibility away from them along with their safety.” Seville paused and pursed his lips. “They need to see someone new—a man of peace, such as you. From there, we can work toward a common goal to end this senseless slaughter. I will come down on another shuttle once you’ve begun your important work.”

“Of course, Admiral.” Jenner glanced toward the shuttle as the last of his team boarded. “I will take my leave of you now, then, and see you shortly.”

“Good luck, Minister.”

“Same to you, Admiral.”

Both of them quickly made the salute of the League—a closed fist pressed to the chest—as Jenner turned on his heel to depart. Seville watched Jenner as he entered the shuttle and the hatch closed behind him. Once it was securely shut and the shuttle began to depart, Seville glanced at Strappi.

“That is a pity. I actually like him.”

“I worry he suspects.”

Seville fought down the desire to openly sneer at Strappi. “Of course he doesn’t suspect. He believes we all want a just peace. You worry far too much, Colonel.”

“That is my duty, Admiral.”

“Of course. Now, run along and check up on the crew’s morale then join me on the bridge to watch the Terran Coalition’s death throes.”

29

Striding onto the bridge, Sheila made a beeline for the CO’s chair. Ruth had been standing watch as the command duty officer.

“I have the conn, Lieutenant Goldberg,” she said curtly.

“Major Tompson has the conn, aye,” Ruth stated formally as she stood and retook the tactical station.

Sheila announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation. Master Chief, signal an intruder alert to the master-at-arms, but do not trigger the general alarm.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tinetariro replied. “I’ll have security deployed outside all sensitive areas. Are we looking for something or someone specific?”

“Captain Adriana Barrigo.”

Tinetariro’s eyebrows shot up. “XO, with respect, what aren’t you telling us?”

“Colonel Cohen believes that the captain is possibly under League influence. She assaulted medical bay staff and has disappeared.”

A dark cloud descended over the bridge. Sheila and Ruth exchanged glances.

“We have to find her now and sort out what’s going on,” Sheila said. “TAO, can you calibrate the internal sensors to look specifically for Barrigo?”

“Yes, ma’am. Give me a moment to cross-reference her unique signature to our internal sensors.” While she spoke, Ruth pulled the proper file out of the ship’s main security library and plugged it into the internal sensor module. “XO, she’s not anywhere on our internal sensor profile.”

“You can’t just disappear on this ship.” Sheila was dumbfounded at how the woman could have pulled the escape off, and her opinion of the situation quickly moved to mirror David’s. “TAO, run a diagnostic on all weapons systems, specifically looking for sabotage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ruth said, and her mouth remained open in shock. Working through the various weapon systems, she called out the status of all systems. “So far, no sabotage to the manual systems or autoloading systems. Energy capacitors all report green. Remote gunnery…”

“Lieutenant?” Sheila prodded.

“Ma’am, I’m seeing a remote access to our point-defense system. It’s not from one of the auxiliary control stations, engineering, or the secondary bridge. Whoever is doing this has set up a wireless connection that is being redirected over an entire section of the ship. This is incredibly skilled hacking.”

“Kick them out now, Lieutenant.”

“I’m trying, ma’am.” Ruth worked through several different commands and security codes before slamming the console with her hands. “Whoever it is is using a high-level override that I can’t defeat.” Ruth turned to face Sheila. “Who the hell is doing this, XO?”

Ignoring Ruth, Sheila brought her personal communicator up to her mouth. “Thompson to Cohen.”

After a pause, David’s voice crackled through the device. “Go ahead, XO.”

“Sir, we’ve identified an unauthorized access to the remote gunnery system.”

“I’m assuming you’ve tried to lock them out without success.”

“Correct, sir. They’re using a high-level override.”

“Wait one, XO.”

David kept the communications link active while he attempted to use his own lockout sequence. “Computer, this is Colonel Cohen. Authorization Code Alpha, Tango, November, Bravo, Three, Niner, One. Terminate all remote gunnery-system access.”

The computer’s reply was immediate. “Function cannot be performed. Gold-level command override in place on existing connection.”

Sheila was stunned by the revelation. How the heck did she get her hands on those?

David interrupted her thoughts. “XO, we’d need a flag officer to override those codes. I can’t cut it off. Can you tell me where the access is coming from? We can get security units there to stop Captain Barrigo.”

“Wait one, sir,” Sheila responded and muted the communications channel. “Got any aces up your sleeve, TAO?”

“Ma’am, that signal is being bounced off eighteen different wireless access points. She’s using our ship’s dispersed control capabilities against us. I’ve narrowed it down to a section of the starboard side, above the flight deck. Decks ten through fourteen, sections twenty through thirty.”

Sheila unmuted the channel and relayed the information to David.

Obviously frustrated, David responded, “XO, that’s a lot of space to cover. Is there any other way to narrow it down? I doubt we have a lot of time here.”

Sheila pursed her lips, trying to run ways to find the elusive woman. “Wait a minute, sir. Some of the compartments that house the long-range sensor arrays are completely encased in dampening elements so that we don’t receive false positive readings. That’s where she is.” She pulled up a schematic of the starboard-side section on the monitor above the CO’s chair. Zeroing in on the shielded compartments, Sheila brought up her communicator once more. “Sir, there’re three separate compartments she might be in. D11S22, D11S28, and D13SS25.”

“Understood, XO. I’ll take it from here.”

As David’s communications link ended, Sheila looked at Ruth. “TAO, stand by to disable the remote gunnery system as soon as control is restored.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

On the bridge of the Destruction, Seville stared quietly at a clock. Strappi was nearby, still seeming nervous.

An officer reported, “Minister Jenner’s shuttle is away, sir.”

“Well, it won’t be long now,” Seville said with satisfaction. “Put the crew on silent alert. Just in case we have... unforeseen complications.”

* * *

“Sergeant…” David gestured to one of the security teams. “Take Section D11S22.” Addressing the other team, he continued, “Corporal, take Section D11S28. I’ll handle D13SS25. Remember, Captain Barrigo is one of our own. Use nonlethal force, if at all possible. Move out!”

David ran to his section. It took him several minutes to cover the distance. After he found the right passageway then quickly located the service panel, which opened to reveal a very narrow engineering space, he crawled through, pulling out his energy-pulse sidearm and pointing it forward. After what seemed like an eternity of crawling through the bowels of the ship, he sighted a small workspace area directly ahead. Taking pains to be quiet but still move quickly, he saw Barrigo staring at a control screen.

* * *

Back on the bridge, Ruth called out in alarm, “Conn, TAO. Forward point-defense batteries are coming online under remote control.” She watched in horror as a targeting display came alive. “Ma’am, they’re targeting Minister Jenner’s shuttle!”

Sheila stood. “Lock down those weapons, TAO,” she barked.

Ruth shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have no control.”

* * *

Meanwhile, David was trying to slip into position to ambush Barrigo when his communicator activated. Sheila’s panicked voice came through. “Colonel! She’s trying to blow up the League’s shuttle!”

This day just keeps getting better. David jumped into the area where Barrigo was set up. Noticing that Barrigo had a small tablet device plugged into one of the ship’s data lines, with crosshairs on top of a shuttle showing on its screen, he wasted no time. “Captain Barrigo!” he shouted. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but put that control down now.”

Barrigo gave him a blank stare. “I must fire the guns,” she said as she turned back to her screen and brought her fingers up to it.

David quickly brought up his sidearm and fired a shot into her shoulder. Barrigo cried out in pain, dropping the device to the floor. “I must fire the guns! I must do what my father says!”

David turned up the power to his weapon as she reached down to pick the tablet back up. He fired again. The blast hit the tablet and incinerated it as well as part of her hand. Screaming, Barrigo fell to the floor, holding her charred hand.

* * *

On the bridge, Ruth’s targeting screen suddenly went black. “Conn, TAO. I’ve got gunnery control back.” After quickly disarming the point-defense systems, she powered down and secured the Lion’s weapons suite. “System secure, ma’am.”

“Conn, Communications. The Destruction is warning us to shut down our weapons immediately and explain what’s going on,” Taylor said.

Sheila allowed herself a sigh of relief. “Communications, tell them we had a problem when running a diagnostic, but everything has returned to normal.”

* * *

Back in the crawlspace, David knelt beside Barrigo. Quickly checking her vitals, he found her pulse to be strong and the wound on her, hand cauterized because of the heat of the energy pulse.

He pulled his communicator to his lips. “I need a medical team to D13S25, the lateral access space, now!”

David did what he could to make her comfortable as she whimpered in pain. “Barrigo, I need to know who told you to do this.” he said as nonthreateningly as he could.

Her eyes looked as if they were staring right by him to a point hundreds of miles away. “I must do what my father says!” she cried. “I must be a good girl!”

David tried consoling her instead. “Barrigo, your father is waiting for you. Just a little while longer.”

“No!” she cried out again. “He won’t let me come home if I don’t do what he says. He says to fire the guns! Fire the guns! I must fire the guns!”

30

A few minutes after the medical team arrived to tend to Barrigo, David exited the gravlift to the passageway leading to the bridge. Exchanging a quick salute with the two Marines guarding the bridge door, he made his way through the hatch and onto the bridge. He had requested that Amir and Calvin join him there to discuss the situation. He was happy to see they’d made it there ahead of him, as time was a very precious commodity.

Master Chief Tinetariro announced, “Colonel on the bridge.”

David said curtly, “As you were.” He motioned Sheila, Amir, and Calvin over to the main holographic projector in the middle of the bridge. “XO, Colonels.”

Sheila was the first to speak. “I’m not sure where to start, sir.”

“We’ll start with the obvious. This peace deal was a farce possibly designed to turn the rest of the galaxy against us or at least give the League a pretext to fire on Canaan.”

Calvin made a face. “We should never have trusted those Leaguer bastards. The only good Leaguer is a dead Leaguer, sir.”

Sheila’s face clouded over at Calvin’s words, while Amir looked eager for a fight. David, though, shared Sheila’s concerns. “Colonel Demood, I sense that at the very least, Minister Jenner was sincere. That doesn’t change what we need to do here, but it’s something we should remember.”

Sheila picked up where David left off. “We also need to remember that almost all the people on those League ships are conscripts, and if they won’t fight, they and their families are executed for treason.”

David cleared his throat as Amir’s face twisted. “Be that as it may, we’ve got a job to do here. Colonel, do we have enough Marines on this ship to secure the POW transport and save our people? We know they’re aboard thanks to Intergalactic Red Cross visits on the way to Canaan.”

Calvin nodded. “I’ve got three hundred Marines on this ship, Colonel. I’ll get them home or die trying. You’ve got my word on it.”

David cracked a smile. “I’m much more interested in you making the other guys die for their country, Colonel,” he said, referencing the comments made at the dinner with the League.

“Agreed, sir.”

“Amir, do we have enough stores to outfit your wing for anti-capital ship strikes?”

Amir set his jaw. “Yes, sir. What we lack in numbers, we make up with fighting spirit. And there’re plenty of anti-ship missiles. I’ll have our entire bomber force set up to engage capital ships, and we will stand by on ready five for your order to engage.”

David nodded. “I hope I’m wrong, folks. I hope the Destruction simply stays in orbit, and this was all some kind of giant misunderstanding or a plot by only a few of the League’s officers. But my gut says that very shortly, our friends over there will go weapons hot and start shooting. So we’re going to be prepared. Sheila, take us to material condition two, get our damage control teams up and running, and make sure those contractors know we’re in a possible combat situation. I want the right groups in the right places to help with repairs, should we need them.”

Sheila spoke up. “I hope you’re wrong, too, sir.”

“Let’s get to it.”

The rest acknowledged him. Calvin and Amir left the bridge quickly. David and Sheila took their posts in the CO’s and XO’s chairs.

During the next couple of minutes, David closed his eyes and bowed his head in silent prayer. God, I’ve never asked you for victory, but today, I ask you to give us peace, if that is Your will. Whatever happens, please spare the lives of those under my command and return them safely to their families.

* * *

On the bridge of the Destruction, the ship was still running at battle stations. Seville could plainly see its crew whispering about what was going on. He realized Barrigo had been discovered and stopped or that the programming hadn’t worked. I’m not leaving empty handed. Not after all this time. Twenty-seven years ago, I lost my eye here. Today, they pay. No League warship had been so close to Canaan since the aborted invasion nearly thirty years ago. He gestured for Colonel Strappi to come closer.

“Colonel, the plan has failed,” Seville said bluntly.

“That’s impossible. We just have to give it more time,” Strappi trilled back.

Seville fought down his utter contempt for Strappi, staring at him. “Colonel, we have to adapt. We are so close to the enemy. We haven’t been this close in many years. We can strike fear into the hearts of their civilian population centers.”

“But the State Security Committee—”

“Is not here, Colonel. Think of the medals that will be pinned on your chest by the chairman himself.” Seville smiled thinly. “Let us be bold and decisive.”

In truth, Seville had only given the ruse they had played a fifty percent chance of success. An orbital strike against the major population centers of Canaan had always been his backup plan.

Strappi cleared his throat. The man was nothing if not predictable. The idea of a medal from the chairman would always motivate the man. “All right, Admiral. I’ll go along. Show these religious fanatics that only the embrace of the League of Sol will save them.”

Seville leaned back in his chair. Useful idiots like Strappi came in handy, at least until he had won the war against the Terran Coalition. Seville looked down toward his flag captain. “Captain Antonov, bring all of our weaponry online. Get a firing solution on the largest cities currently in range of our weapons.”

Antonov looked up at Seville with something approaching sadness in his eyes. “Aye, aye, Admiral.”

* * *

The sensors aboard the Lion of Judah picked up the League ship’s actions seconds later. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. Master One is powering its main weapons, sir,” Ruth announced.

David sat up just a little bit straighter. “Damn,” he said under his breath toward Sheila while he punched a button on his console for 1MC. “General quarters. General quarters. This is the commanding officer. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill.” As he uttered the words, the general-quarters alarm klaxon sounded throughout the vessel, and the lights on the bridge dimmed and turned blue.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. Master One is changing course and heading toward the capital.”

David sucked in a breath. “Navigation, put us between Master One and Canaan. TAO, bring all weapons online and charge the energy-weapon capacitor. Raise shields and activate the automated point-defense system.”

Hammond deftly maneuvered the Lion of Judah between the Destruction and the planet, making use of the superior sublight engines on the Lion and her tactical thruster system. “Conn, Navigation. Holding steady on course two-one-six. Master One is directly off our starboard quarter.”

The tactical readout above David’s head showed the shields going up and various weapons systems coming online.

Sheila leaned over David’s shoulder and asked quietly, “Sir, shouldn’t we ask for instructions from command?”

“No time, XO. Besides, Barton is the commander of the home-defense fleet.”

She scrunched her nose in response. “Point taken.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. Master One has locked its weapons onto us and has completed charging its weapons.”

At that point, the Destruction could fire on the Lion at any time. David turned to Taylor. “Communications, signal the Destruction. Warn them off.”

A couple of seconds passed before Taylor replied, “No response, sir.”

So this is it. A fake peace deal, the Trojan horse defeated, and now the League will try to kill as many as they can before they run away. David felt many would try to hang the debacle on him, but more importantly, they would blame his crew. The Destruction could not be allowed to fire on Canaan or to leave the system with the information it had undoubtedly gleaned from sensor sweeps. Still, he didn’t want to fire the first shot, and he figured that Seville was hoping he would get a propaganda coup against the Terran Coalition.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, all forward mag-cannons and neutron beam emitters,” he stated as formally as possible.

“Aye, sir. Firing solution set,” Ruth responded. Her shaking hands betrayed her nerves.

David’s second-guessing ended a few seconds later.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. Master One has opened fire!” Ruth nearly shouted, and a moment later, the ship rocked slightly as weapons fire slammed into the Lion.

“Deflectors holding, sir.” Ruth announced after reviewing the status displays on her console.

David leaned forward. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons, Master One.”

Weapons fire erupted from the Lion’s forward and aft magnetic-cannon turrets, and at the close range, there were no misses. The Destruction’s shields flared, absorbing the hits, which were followed up by attacks from the Lion’s secondary weapons system—its neutron cannon emitters, which fired directed energy pulses.

“Conn, TAO. Multiple clean hits on Master One. Master One shields intact but weakening.” As Ruth spoke, the ship buckled again as incoming weapons fire hit it. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Two. It’s powering up its engines and charging its Lawrence drive.”

David would have to disable the transport to give the Marines time to board the ship and secure it. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Two. Target its engines only with the neutron cannons. Disabling shots only.”

The overwhelming stress of a combat situation in point-blank range of Canaan was getting to him and everyone else on the bridge.

“Aye, aye, sir. Firing solution set.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, neutron cannons, Master Two.”

Blue beams of energy darted out from the Lion once again, stabbing into the League POW transport. They cut through the shields and hull of the ship like a hot knife through butter, neatly slicing off the engine exhausts and manifolds. The League transport was unable to further maneuver in space.

“Conn, TAO, Master Two disabled,” Ruth said, exhaling sharply.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, magnetic cannons and neutron beams,” David said, resuming the attack on the Destruction.

As Ruth made the necessary calculations, David looked at Taylor. “Communications, signal Colonel Demood. He is ordered to release the breaching pods and secure Master Two by any means necessary. Alert Command that we’ve engaged the enemy and request reinforcements.”

31

Calvin stood next to his second-in-command, Major Raul Cabello, reviewing a 3-D projected schematic of the League transport that contained the POWs. “This just looks gnarly, Cabello.” He pointed at the areas of the ship they had no intelligence on. “How many Force Recon Marines do we have on this tub?”

Since Force Recon was considered a Special Operations Capable force, they were the most trained and best equipped Marines aboard the Lion of Judah. Under normal conditions, the MEU would have a company of actual special forces operators attached, but the Lion only had three hundred out of three thousand Marines currently embarked. But of three companies attached, one was a light company of Force Recon Marines.

Cabello looked up from the schematic and said in his thick Spanish accent, “Forty, Colonel. I’ve ordered them all to suit up and prepare for VBSS.” VBSS stood for Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure. “We can breach one team of twenty on the port side of the ship and the rest on the starboard side to split the defense security teams inside the ship. After that, we have the rest of our two hundred sixty combat Marines board and secure the areas the spearheads take.”

Two bright dots began to glow on the schematic, indicating where Cabello planned to insert TCMC forces.

Calvin nodded. “Looks good to me. What about EOD?” he asked, referring to explosive ordnance disposal. “We didn’t get our team on before the ship launched, and I’d wager we’ll see some booby traps over there.”

“Well… We have a volunteer.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow. “A volunteer?”

“I think I’ll let him speak for himself.” He motioned to a Marine sergeant standing near the hatch to the passageway. “Sergeant, bring Mr. Uzun in.”

The sergeant motioned to someone in the passageway, and a few moments later, an older man in civilian clothing walked into the room and strode over to Cabello and Calvin.

“Gunnery Sergeant Hadi Uzun reporting for duty, Colonel,” the man said crisply in accented English.

Calvin couldn’t quite place the accent. As he looked the man over, he appeared to be in good shape and wore an engineering technician’s jumpsuit and work belt. “You’re out of uniform, Gunny.”

“I’ve been out of uniform for eight years, Colonel. But I spent fifteen years in the Marines, specializing in explosive-device disposal,” Uzun said. “I’m on board as a member of the contractor team. I overheard some of your Marines talking about needing an EOD tech as I checked a power relay. If you’ll have me, I’m your man.”

“Colonel, I took the liberty of pulling Mr. Uzun’s service jacket. He was honorably discharged for medical reasons and had high performance rankings during his time as an EOD technician.”

“I can’t allow a civilian to join a boarding op against a League POW transport, Major. Good Lord, how many regs does that break?”

Uzun cleared his throat. “Colonel… once a Marine, always a Marine.”

Calvin could tell Cabello backed putting the man aboard, and they desperately needed someone who could disarm League booby traps and the onboard self-destruct system. “Damn right, Gunny. Get in uniform and get a bomb suit. We’re dusting off as soon as the bridge gives the order.”

A change seemed to come over Uzun. He stood just a little bit taller and straighter. “Sir, yes sir! Semper fi!” he said then turned on his heel to leave.

At that moment, a corporal rushed up to Calvin and Cabello. “Sirs, Colonel Cohen has requested that the rescue operation begin immediately.”

Calvin looked at Cabello. “Get those boys in the breaching pods. I’ll take team A. You take team B. Corporal, please relay to the bridge that we will be ready to launch momentarily.”

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Master One’s aft shielding is close to collapse, sir,” Ruth announced.

“TAO, firing point procedures, forward vertical launch array. Target eight Hunter missiles on Master One’s aft section. Make tubes one through eight ready in all respects and open outer doors,” David said. Hunters carried advanced artificial intelligence and could evade all but the absolute best League point-defense systems. In this combat, the League dreadnought lacked its escorts and the overlapping point-defense coverage they carried. He wanted to end the battle quickly and disable the Destruction.

“Aye, aye, sir. Firing solution set for eight Hunter missiles on Master One. Tubes one through eight ready in all respects. Outer doors are open.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, tubes one through eight, Master One.”

Ruth pressed the launch button on her console, and eight Hunter missiles thundered into space from the Lion’s forward vertical launch array—a missile cell that popped out of the ship’s superstructure and could retract to be reloaded fully in less than an hour. The array held one hundred twenty missiles, of which forty were Hunters and the rest less sophisticated but still powerful LIDAR-tracking variants called Starbolt missiles.

“Conn, TAO. All Hunters running hot, straight, and normal sir.”

The warheads went active a thousand meters from the Lion and quickly linked with the Lion’s tactical network, locking onto the Destruction. Evading enemy point-defense weaponry, they plunged into the weakened aft shield. Out of the eight, six hit their target, and two were destroyed by point defense.

“Conn, TAO. Master One’s aft shield has collapsed.”

David started to order Ruth to capitalize on that development and pound the Destruction’s aft quadrant with mag-cannon and neutron-beam fire, but before he could, Taylor interrupted him. “Conn, Communications. General Barton is demanding to speak to you, sir.”

David groaned inwardly. Of all the times, I have to deal with Barton now? “Put it on my viewer, Lieutenant.”

Barton’s face popped onto the viewer that hung from the ceiling above David’s chair. “Colonel! What are you doing? I show sustained weapons fire between you and the peace convoy.”

David fought to keep his neutral expression. “General, sir, we discovered a League saboteur aboard the Lion. She has been apprehended, but the Destruction opened fire on us after—”

“You are supposed to be securing peace in our time, Colonel! Not start another war! Stand down now. The Ark Royal will deal with this.”

David glanced at Sheila out of the corner of his eye. “General, we can’t stand down. If we disengage, the Destruction will be free to fire on Canaan.”

While Barton was yelling, Sheila made a gesture across her throat to Taylor.

“Colonel, I said—” The screen blinked out.

David turned to Taylor.

He shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir. General’s Barton’s signal seems to have dropped. Should I try to get him back?”

Sheila smirked. “I don’t think we have time for him right now, sir.”

“I concur, XO. TAO, firing point procedures—”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. Master One is powering up her Lawrence drive.”

David quickly adjusted his tactics. “Navigation, match course and speed, Master One. TAO, drain the energy-weapons capacitor and redirect that power to the engines.”

Sheila glanced doubtfully at David. “Sir, are we going to pursue them?”

“Of course we are, XO. We’ve got to. They’ve been inside Canaan’s defense perimeter —who knows what scans they took? Beyond that, it’s a massive propaganda victory for the League to pull this and get away without a scratch. We’re neutralizing that ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

He could tell from her tone that she wasn’t completely sold on the idea, but David felt his gut was almost always right. Besides, I’d really like to take down a League dreadnought in our first combat. If nothing else, that’ll help morale on the home front.

“Conn, Communications. Colonel Demood reports that they are ready to begin the rescue operation on Master Two.”

David felt relief at the news. They could pursue the Destruction without leaving the POWs behind. “Communications, patch me through to Colonel Demood.”

A moment later, Taylor said, “Sir, Colonel Demood is patched into your console.”

David spoke into the mic. “Demood, this is Cohen. Bring them home. Godspeed and good luck.”

Calvin’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Godspeed, Colonel. Good luck to you in blowing those communist bastards out of space. Demood out.”

“Conn, TAO. Master One has successfully opened a wormhole.”

David snapped his head up and quickly checked the tactical plot. We’re close enough to pull this off. Typically, a successful Lawrence drive jump ended the pursuit, because it was difficult to pinpoint where the wormhole led—unless, of course, the pursuer could get through before the unstable vortex collapsed. “Navigation, all ahead flank. Follow Master One through that wormhole. TAO, stand by to immediately reacquire Master One upon transit.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir,” was followed by action on the part of Ruth and Hammond. David stared at his tactical plot as the Destruction disappeared from their screens. The two breaching pods from the Lion launched, followed by several large shuttlecraft headed directly for the transport. With that, the Lion was ready to pursue the fleeing enemy ship. The Lion’s engines powered up, and the vessel accelerated through the void before the wormhole’s vortex collapsed in a dazzling array of colors.

32

The Lion of Judah emerged from the wormhole close on the trail of the Destruction. In the seconds it took for the ship to recover from the stress of wormhole transition, the Destruction’s bridge crew steeled themselves to reenter the fight.

Admiral Seville watched Colonel Strappi pace the floor. Fighting the urge to sneer at the man, he counted down the seconds until their sensors snapped back online.

“Communications, signal our reinforcements to transit to our coordinates now,” Seville commanded.

A moment later, the communications officer replied, “Admiral, message received and confirmed. They will jump in momentarily.”

Strappi walked over to Seville and leaned close. “Admiral, what reinforcements?” he asked, bewildered.

Seville smiled thinly at his political officer. “I had a small squadron of my best ships waiting just in case we needed them. I had expected to see the pride of the Coalition fleet, the Ark Royal, pursuing us, but they’ll do against this new ship just the same.”

“How did you get this past the Social and Public Safety Committee, Admiral?” Strappi asked with what seemed like both respect and fear.

“Because not everything in the League goes through the damn Social and Public Safety Committee,” Seville said derisively. “There was a contingency plan in place if we needed it. Turns out we did.”

The tactical officer broke into the conversation with an announcement. “Admiral, we have eight wormholes opening. Our reinforcements have arrived.”

Seville smiled. “Checkmate.”

* * *

On the bridge of the Lion of Judah, David had been counting down the seconds until his ship could see again. He was ready to finish the fight against the League warship.

“Conn, TAO. LIDAR array online.” Ruth’s voice shot up an octave. “I’m showing nine contacts, sir.”

“Confirm that, TAO. What are the ship classes of those contacts?” David barked.

Sheila stared in alarm.

“Conn, TAO. I show one Behemoth-class dreadnought, designation Master One… four Rand-class cruisers designated Master Two through Five… and four Lancer-class frigates designated Master Six through Nine. Sir, the Rands have fighter craft detaching from them. I’m reading some kind of rail-launch system.”

Rail-launch system for fighters? What the heck? David had read about a contraption like that in intelligence reports concerning the very top tier of League ships and elite crews but had never engaged one in combat. He quickly realized that the battle group was designed to engage a fleet carrier without her escorts. But perhaps not a battleship of the Lion’s design.

Stopping himself from overthinking the tactics, he concentrated on the situation at hand. He had to solve one problem at a time and prevent the enemy from getting inside his OODA loop. “TAO, do you have a read on how many fighters we’re facing and what types?”

“Sir, I estimate at least fifty League fighters. They’re too far out to identify, but at least a few appear to be bomber sized.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, all contacts. Sublight engine light off. They’re moving toward engagement range, sir. Master One through Five are standing off, while Master Six through Nine are maneuvering to cover our fighter bays with point-defense fire.”

David pulled up his tactical plot on his viewer. The League fleet clearly intended to prevent him from launching fighters while they overwhelmed the defenses of the Lion. He quickly decided that the only course of action was to disable the frigates and scramble the Lion’s fighter wing to engage the League fighters and capital ships.

“TAO, firing point procedures. Load high-explosive shells into the mag-cannons. Target Master Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine with mag-cannons and neutron beams.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Firing solutions set.”

“TAO, shoot, mag cannons and neutron beams.”

Magnetic-cannon shells shot out from the Lion and struck the shields of all four League frigates. As the high-explosive rounds impacted, causing extensive energy drain, neutron-beam fire raked over the frigates. The deflectors on the two closest Lancers failed, and the vessels exploded as multiple impacts slammed into their weak and brittle hulls.

“Conn, TAO. Master Six and Eight destroyed. Master Nine neutralized. Master Seven continues to engage,” Ruth said.

“TAO, spin up automated point defense. Set a perimeter around the ship so that our fighters can launch.”

“Conn, TAO. Automated point defense engaged. We have a perimeter of twenty thousand kilometers.”

David reassessed his tactical plot. “Communications, get me Colonel Amir.”

Taylor cued up Amir’s personal command channel. “He’s patched in to your station, sir.”

David spoke into the mic. “Amir, I need you to launch your wing and engage the League fighters and capital ships. I want to engage the Rands and degrade them enough that we can close in and finish this.”

Amir’s voice came through strongly. “Understood, Colonel. The Reapers are standing by to launch. We are armed up for interdiction and capital-ship engagement.”

“Good hunting and Godspeed, Colonel.”

“Inshallah.”

* * *

Amir had been in the middle of running his final preflight check when David ordered the launch of the wing. Once completed, he cued the preset communications channel to his second-in-command, Major Rebecca Tulleny. “Ready to go?” he asked informally.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I was hoping this peace deal was the real thing.”

“We’ve got a job to do, Major. Let’s get out of here and kick them back to Earth,” Amir replied. He hated the League with a passion and considered fighting them to be a form of Jihad, and he was glad to give his life fighting them, if that was what it took.

In times like this, Amir saw red and wanted to blow as many League craft and pilots out of space as he could. When the rage subsided, he would repent and ask Allah to forgive him, but for the moment, he was still as mad as hell.

Amir switched his commlink to the air boss’s line. “Boss, we’re ready to go. Request permission to launch.”

“This is the boss. Colonel, all squadrons are cleared to launch in order, Reapers first. Godspeed.”

Amir then flipped his commlink to reach his squadron commanders. “Attention. We are cleared for launch. Stand by to launch as called by the boss. Reapers are launching first. Once we’re in space, form up and stand by for further orders.”

Amir pushed the throttle to max thrust. He was always the first in space, and there was no feeling like the thrill of launching at full speed out the side of a hangar into the blackness of the void. It never got old. He couldn’t see himself doing anything else. As he was pressed back into his seat from the extreme g-forces, mitigated though they were by the design of his pilot’s chair and the inertial dampening systems of his craft, the fighter thundered into space. In the few minutes it took for the roughly fifty fighters on the Lion to launch, he studied the sensor readouts of the approaching League craft.

As the last of his wing launched, Amir cued his commlink to a private channel. “Reaper One to Tiger One.”

“Go ahead, sir,” Tulleny said.

“I want your squadron to form up with our bombers and provide close escort. I and the rest of the Reapers will engage the incoming bombers.”

“Understood, Colonel. Godspeed.”

“Inshallah.”

Amir pulled up his HUD and spent some time pondering the best attack approach. While the League craft outnumbered them almost two to one, he felt confident in the training of his pilots and the quality of their combat spacecraft compared to the League’s. CDF technology was always a few steps ahead of the League, and League training was nothing like the Coalition’s. Fifteen seconds out from maximum engagement range, he cued the commlink to reach his entire squadron.

“Reapers, this is Reaper One. A layer of League fighters is screening their bombers. We’ll take one shot at the fighters with guided missiles as we pass, but our objective is to knock down as many bombers as possible. Weapons-free status for all craft.”

On his HUD, the entire squadron signaled its understanding, which translated into green dots next to each pilot’s name and craft.

As his fighter entered max range, Amir acquired a League fighter. It took several seconds for him to hear the lock-on sound or what the pilots called a tone. “Reaper One, fox three,” he called out as he fired an active LIDAR-tracked missile.

Other calls of “Fox three” followed from his squadron as every fighter lined up and fired on a League craft. Simultaneously, the League fighters fired their own missiles.

With surprise, Amir watched his HUD as most of the missiles fired by his fighters were evaded by the League craft. Only two hit their intended targets, and of those, only one was a hard kill. Blasting through the League formation, he turned his attention to lining up and engaging the lumbering League bombers.

Sliding behind one of the multicrewed craft, Amir pulled up his miniature neutron cannons and fired on the bomber. “Reaper One, guns, guns, guns.”

After several seconds of sustained fire and multiple hits from his neutron cannons, the League bomber finally exploded. “Reaper One, splash one. Splash one bandit.”

The missile warning light and tone suddenly sounded in Amir’s cockpit. While he’d been engaging the bomber, two League fighters had gotten onto his six. In the time it took him to locate the League fighters, he had two missiles inbound on his craft. While part of his brain wondered where the League had gotten what appeared to be an entire squadron of elite pilots, his training snapped in and took over as he responded to the threat.

Noting that both incoming missiles were classified as heat-seeking by the onboard tactical computer, Amir triggered his flare launchers, sending dozens of bright, white-hot energy signature generators, which would have the effect of confusing the incoming missiles. One missile quickly veered off, taking the bait and exploding. The other stayed on target, tracking him move for move.

Amir reinforced his aft shielding and pulled up hard on the flight stick after deploying more flares. The final missile exploded far too close for comfort, sending his fighter spinning.

By the time Amir got his fighter back under control, his wingman reported in. “Reaper Two to Reaper One. You’ve still got three bandits on your six. I’m moving to engage the bandit closest to me now. Over.”

On his HUD, Amir’s wingman closed in on the League fighter that was farthest away from him. That left two deadly interceptors in his blind spot, trying to lock on for a shot. He adjusted in his flight chair as the missile warning light lit up. Responding quickly, Amir pulled the stick down hard and increased thrust to maximum. The Gs he pulled were so high that he approached blackout.

But his gamble paid off. He hurtled toward the enemy fighters and blew past them so fast that neither he nor the enemy could obtain a lock.

Looping back around, Amir pushed his fighter to its maximum limits and took advantage of the League pilots’ momentary disorientation. He settled behind one of the craft, triggering his target-acquisition system.

“Reaper One, fox three,” he said as the LIDAR-guided missile leaped from its launching bay and roared toward the League craft.

After successfully tracking the League fighter for several seconds, the missile connected and blew it to bits.

Not wanting to take the time to obtain another weapons lock, Amir opted to use a heat-seeking missile on the next target. Pulling up the weapons selector on his HUD, he mentally selected the warhead and launched it in the direction of the remaining League fighter. He took a moment to check in on the progress of his squadrons and noted that the bombers and their escorting fighters had made it through the ongoing furball and were heading toward the League capital ships.

Losses seemed to be higher than normal for an engagement of this type, leading Amir to conclude he was seeing elite pilots and perhaps elite machines. He pushed that aside, though, as the second fighter he had targeted was hit by the missile and destroyed.

Before he could call out the two kills, his wingman announced killing the third League fighter. “Reaper Two, splash one. Splash one bandit.”

Amir cued the communications channel and called out, “Reaper One, splash two. Splash two.”

Hotdogging a little, Amir performed a barrel roll in his fighter while saying, “Allahu Akbar,” an Arabic phrase for “God is great.” He then picked the nearest bomber and closed in to engage. God willing, my squadron will finish off the enemy.

* * *

David held on tightly to the arms of his station as the bridge rocked from weapon impacts on the shielding system. He observed on his tactical plot that the League ships had formed a tight sphere providing overlapping fire support, making it difficult for the Lion to pick one off to even the odds.

“Conn, TAO. Forward-deflector-generator effectiveness is decreasing, sir.”

David decided to gamble and try to take out one of the Rands. “Navigation, all ahead full, intercept course on Master Three.” That specific Rand was just slightly out of position, from David’s read. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Three, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”

Magnetic cannon shells raced from the Lion of Judah at thirty percent of the speed of light. Most impacted the shields of the targeted Rand, weakening them dramatically. The neutron beam strikes inflicted damage on the hull plating of the Rand but not enough to disable it, and the other League ships were free to continue to pour weapons fire onto the Lion.

“Conn, TAO. Master Three has disengaged after receiving moderate damage, sir.”

Weapon impacts slammed into the Lion from the three Rands remaining in line of sight as well as the Destruction.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shield collapse is imminent, sir.”

“Dammit,” David muttered drawing a look from Sheila. “Navigation, left thirty degrees. Present our port shield quadrant to the enemy.”

Hammond responded, “Aye, aye, sir. Left thirty degrees,” as weapons fire continued to rake the Lion.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master Two. Magnetic cannons and neutron beams. Let’s keep them guessing.”

“Aye, sir. Firing solutions set.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”

As another round of weapons fire erupted from the Lion, more incoming plasma bolts slammed into the Lion’s forward quadrant. Plasma bolts peppered the hull of the ship, causing limited damage through the ablative armor.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shield has collapsed, sir.”

“Navigation, maximum turn,” David barked.

“Conn, Navigation. Acknowledged, sir. We’re moving as fast as she can. Another seven seconds before we’ve got our forward deflector out of their firing lane.”

As Hammond spoke, the ship lurched forward. Several seconds later, the speaker on David’s station sprang to life. “Conn, Engineering. This is Major Hanson. We’re showing a fire in the forward ammunition magazine.”

David’s jaw dropped. “Say again, engineering?”

“Fire in the forward ammunition magazine, sir. Recommend we vent it into space to avoid further casualty to the ship.”

“Engineering, vent the forward ammunition magazine.”

A few moments passed, then Hanson reported. “Sir, venting controls are inoperative.”

David glanced at Sheila, thinking that the new development could be a disaster. If the magnetic-cannon rounds or missiles began to cook off or explode, it would destroy the ship from the inside out. Lacking a shakedown cruise before being put into use, the Lion was going to suffer from a lot of small glitches. But this one had an outsized effect on the ship.

“Engineering, get as many damage-control teams as we can to the magazine,” David said into the mic then turned to Sheila. “XO, get down there and put that fire out by any means necessary. Hanson, the XO is going to take local command of the damage-control teams.”

“Aye, sir. Engineering out.”

Sheila stood. “Don’t get this ship shot out from under us during your first combat in it, sir,” she said with a smile.

“Godspeed,” David replied, glancing at her as she walked away from the command station.

33

In orbit of Canaan, the ominous black mass of the League Type-D cargo ship grew larger by the second as the breaching pod careened toward it. Calvin sat in the copilot’s chair next to the warrant officer flying the pod. He watched the distance closing rapidly and glanced over at the pilot.

“Ever done this before, Bradshaw?” he asked.

“No, sir,” the young woman replied, tight-lipped. “I don’t think any of us have boarded a POW transport over Canaan before, sir.”

Calvin snickered. “How about any ships, Warrant?”

“Yes, sir. Just a few times.”

“Well, try not to rock us so hard that we throw up,” Calvin retorted, smiling.

“What’s the matter, Colonel? Age catching up with you?”

“What is it with all the wiseasses on this ship?” Calvin asked with mock annoyance.

Instantly, the pilot was all business. “All right, sir. This is where it gets bumpy. About ten seconds out from hard dock.” She keyed the intercom for the pod. “Brace! Brace! Brace! Prepare for impact, Marines.”

Calvin took heed and braced himself as best as he could. As the seconds ticked down, he said a prayer. God, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, seeing as my job is to go out and kill people. Please help me and my men to save these POWs. Something good can still come of this, and I need Your help to make it happen. Amen.

A loud bang echoed as the pod slammed into the side of the League transport.

“Okay, we’re locked on,” the pilot said.

Calvin stood. “Prepare to breach the ship, Warrant.” Cueing the internal commlink in his power armor, he keyed the channel for Cabello. “Major, what’s your status?”

Cabello’s accented voice came through. “About to breach.”

“Breach on my mark.”

When he stepped back into the cargo area, his twenty Force Recon Marines along with the EOD technician Hadi Uzun, stood ready. Their weapons were pointed at the aft door as they waited for it to open.

Calvin glanced over the team. “I’m not much on the inspirational-speech crap. I’m a Marine. I’ve always been a Marine, and Marines do not leave our own behind!” He finished with a shout.

The twenty-one Marines responded in one voice, “Hoorah!”

“We will defeat the enemy! Regardless of their number! We do this, or we don’t leave this ship. Do you get me, Marines?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” the squad responded.

“Then get in there and kill those Leaguer bastards! Bradshaw, breach now.” Calvin cued his commlink. “Cabello, breach!”

A moment later, the aft door blew outward, and a couple of dazed League security officers raised their weapons to open fire. Before they could get off a shot, the lead Marines fired subsonic but highly lethal rounds from their M-35 combat rifles, and both dropped dead. Calvin had ordered nonlethal rounds to be carried, in case the team got into a firefight with POWs in the line of fire, but otherwise, they were to use lethal ammunition designed specifically for space-boarding actions.

“Squad one, move out. Squad two, cover our rear,” Calvin said, walking out of the pod with the rest of the Marines.

They divided into two squads of ten. One moved forward, with Calvin in the middle. Pulling up the limited schematics of the ship in his HUD, he ordered his Marines toward what he thought were the engineering spaces. Cabello would first gain control of the shuttle bay and start landing additional combat Marines to help mop up.

A few meters down the passageway, a group of several Leaguers came around a corner and opened fire. The Marines engaged almost immediately, cutting down the enemy with ease. One of the Marines took a round in his chest armor with no loss of combat effectiveness. The EOD tech, per Calvin’s orders, stayed with the rear guard. Calvin was unwilling to take any chances with him, regardless of his ability to handle himself in a firefight.

It took them a few minutes, but the Leaguers finally began to respond in force to the TCMC attack. “Colonel,” Cabello said through the commlink, “we’re encountering heavy resistance in the shuttle bay. They’re throwing everything they’ve got at us.”

“More than you can handle?”

“Never.”

“Let me know when you’ve got control of the area. This ship’s big, and we need more support.”

“Yes, sir.”

The point man for the squad rounded a corner and was immediately greeted by sustained weapons fire. Calvin and a few other Marines were right behind him and ran into a buzzsaw. The Leaguers had set up an antivehicle weapon in the passageway. The point man collapsed as he took several rounds to his chest.

Calvin’s Marines made themselves as small as they could and returned fire down the passageway, killing some enemy combatants but failing to silence the heavy weapons fire. He grabbed the Marine who carried the squad automatic weapon. “Corporal, you got armor-piercing rounds?” he asked over the din of battle.

“Yes, sir. Locked and loaded, sir.”

“Follow me!”

Calvin led the corporal and another Marine down a side passageway. “Okay, Corporal, fire through the wall here.” He pointed at where he thought the checkpoint was located on the other side of the wall

The corporal raised his weapon and fired on full auto for ten seconds, rounds spraying.

A few seconds later, Calvin’s comm chirped. “Sir, not sure what you did, but those Leaguers just got hosed. We’ve cleared the area and are ready to breach the engineering space.”

Calvin and the two Marines made their way back to the main group that stood outside of a large bulkhead door for the engineering space. He stepped over fallen League soldiers and stopped to take the dog tags of the fallen Marine. Later, they would retrieve his body for burial.

Walking up to the door, he looked at the Marines to his right and his left. “Okay, boys, let’s blow this door, take over the engineering room, and go the hell home,” he said in his best hard-ass Marine voice.

With a nod from Calvin, one of the Marines triggered a breaching charge, blowing the bulkhead door backward. The rest charged through the opening into a firestorm of rounds from League soldiers. A couple went down, but the power-armored Marines had superior protection and firepower. They quickly cut through the resistance and fanned out through the engineering core. Most engineering personnel surrendered, but a few snatched up weapons from the fallen League security troops and tried to keep fighting.

Calvin put a trio of rounds into an engineer who jumped up in front of him but not before the man fired a burst of bullets into his armor. “Gotta give these guys credit. What they lack in ability, they make up for with guts.”

The corporal covering his flank smirked. “Well, knowing your family will be killed if you surrender must be a driving factor.”

Calvin grunted. “Good point, Corporal.”

As he reached the main reactor housing, he took note of a couple of Goliaths—League Marines in their version of power armor. They were crouched around a technician who was frantically working on a console.

When Calvin brought up his arm in the signal for “Stop,” the corporal and another Marine behind him froze.

Calvin signaled them to engage the Leaguers and took up a firing position. Like a well-oiled machine, the friendlies with him assumed flanking positions stealthily. Then on his signal, they opened fire.

Unlike the uniforms of other League troops, the Goliaths’ suits soaked up repeated hits. The League Marines dove behind cover and returned fire, and a lucky shot caught the corporal to Calvin’s right in the helmet, killing him instantly.

Son of a bitch! He yanked a high-explosive grenade from his belt and pulled the pin then tossed it at the nearest Goliath. The explosion momentarily blinded Calvin, and the Leaguer tried to move but was clearly wounded. Calvin pumped rounds into his back until he lay still on the ground. Another enemy popped up from cover and opened fire on Calvin, hitting him repeatedly. With the wind knocked out of him, he fell backward, firing blindly. After a moment, the incoming fire ceased.

Calvin caught his breath and stuck his head up. The other League Marine lay motionless, blood flowing out of his helmet. Wow, there is a God.

He stood and advanced on the League technician. “Step away from that console and show me your hands. Now!”

The technician snarled at him, and Calvin’s finger rested on the trigger to his rifle. He didn’t want to shoot an unarmed man.

“Screw you, zealot!” the man shouted as he brought his hand down on a computer screen. A split second later, Calvin pulled the trigger, sending three rounds into the man’s center mass.

He collapsed in a heap as Calvin advanced and looked down at the screen. The words “Self-Destruct Enabled—05:00” in red stared back at him. It took him a moment to notice that the numbers were counting down. He keyed his mic. “Get Uzun over here. We’ve got a problem.”

* * *

Sheila rounded a corner and came upon a couple dozen soldiers in fire-retardant suits who lugged hoses and fire-extinguishing equipment. “Report, Master Chief.”

“About to breach, XO. Get your hood on.”

He looks like he was he born in the CDF. “No time. I’m here to coordinate anyway.”

“Stay back, then. I expect some flashing.”

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. It’s been a decade since I did damage control, and a fire spreading over our heads isn’t my idea of fun. She’d briefly considered putting on a zero-G suit but decided against it, as time was of the essence. In the old days, crews had to contend with zero-G fires, which behaved strangely compared to a fire in gravity. But artificial gravity generators had solved the problem a century ago for the Terrans.

“Understood, Master Chief. Breach that hatch, and let’s get this fire out.”

Smoke wafted through the edges of the hatch, giving some indication of the seriousness of the situation. Sheila fell back to the rear of the formation as the master chief dogged the hatch open. Flames shot out of the entryway, engulfing a fireman. The team was quick to hose him down in CO_2, and his protective suit did its job. She hung back for a few seconds before entering at the rear of the team. What she saw shocked her. Massive plumes of flames shot through the large bay. The fire was out of control.

“Master Chief! Clear the way to the controls for fire suppression system. That’s our best solution.”

“Yes, ma’am. Corporal, put down a wave of foam. Mathews, check those controls.”

For a few minutes, the team frantically sprayed CO_2 foam and slowly beat back the flames. Upon reaching the manual controls, the private detailed to the task started his work.

“We got a problem here!” he screamed above the din of firefighting efforts. “The keypad isn’t functioning. Looks like the heat melted it.”

“Cover me, Master Chief,” Sheila said and picked her way through the path of twisted metal and slippery deck plating. Sliding next to the young private, she rechecked his diagnosis. Dammit, this is what we get for not having an actual shakedown cruise. “Okay, plan B. Get a crewman down here in a zero-G suit, and we’ll manually open the space to vacuum.”

“Away zero-G damage-control party. Emergency!” the master chief said through his commlink.

“Acknowledged,” someone Sheila didn’t recognize called back.

“It’ll take them five to ten minutes to get here, XO.”

“Spread the team out and keep the flames beaten down,” Sheila said as she continued to try to get a response out of the keypad. She even resorted to hitting the stubborn piece of technology.

A shout from halfway across the magazine attracted her attention. As she glanced up, a warhead fell off its protective rack as the metal alloys began to melt. My God, if one of those cooks off, it’ll destroy the ship from the inside!

“Master Chief. That rack of shells is melting. Get CO2 on it now!”

The team was already engaged. Three soldiers lined up, spraying foam from large hose nozzles. While they were successful, the racks on either side of the one that had failed were bending forward.

Mathews lifted his head from the underbelly of the console, his jaw dropping. “Oh Jesus.”

One after another, warheads spilled off the racks and crashed to the deck. A feeling of panic was palpable as it threatened to engulf the team.

“We’d better pull back,” Sheila said quietly.

“I’ve got this, XO,” Mathews said then stood and took off as fast as possible through the smoke and flame toward the manual venting controls. They were next to a pair of doors that opened directly to space and were used to reload the magazine while in dock.

He almost made it.

A beam that crisscrossed the upper reaches of the space and was responsible for holding up several sections of catwalk broke free and crashed to the deck. Mathews was directly in its path and went down hard, crushed under its weight.

Time almost stopped for Sheila as she took in the scene and realized her path to safety was blocked by debris.

“XO, hang tight. We’ll get you out!” the old master chief yelled from the other side.

What Sheila had to do was suddenly crystal clear. “Negative, Master Chief. Pull the team out.”

“Say again, ma’am?”

“I said pull the team out. I’ll vent the space manually.”

“You don’t have a suit, ma’am.”

For several moments, Sheila considered allowing them to retrieve her. If I do that, I’ll cause incredible risk to the ship, not to mention all these soldiers. I can’t do it. “I know. No time. Now get these soldiers to safety and close the hatch behind you. That’s an order, Master Chief.”

Sheila couldn’t see the man for the flames and smoke, but the sadness in his voice was impossible to miss. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You heard the XO. Clear the area! Move it!”

The sounds of foam being sprayed echoed through the magazine before the loud clank of the hatch closing left her alone.

Sheila made her way across the fallen catwalk to the manual control panel. When she ripped off the cover, she was confronted by a yellow lever marked Danger.

“Godspeed, XO,” the master chief said through her commlink.

“Thanks, Master Chief. I’ll see you on the flip side,” she replied with false bravado.

Sheila pulled on the lever with all her might, but it didn’t move. She picked up a fallen piece of pipe and wedged it into the area between the lever and the back of the panel. Slowly and almost imperceptibly at first, it began to move. Yellow warning lights flashed, and a klaxon sounded, indicating imminent exposure to vacuum. Of course I forgot my safety harness. She groped around wildly through the smoke, looking for anything to hold on to. As the doors creaked open, she flung herself onto the fallen catwalk and held on as tightly as possible.

When the doors had gotten roughly halfway open, the force field that protected them snapped off. The effect was instantaneous. Smoke, fire, and the remaining air in the room raced through the opening into the vacuum of space. Warheads, pieces of metal, Mathews’s body—all of it flashed by her. For a few moments, she thought that by a miracle, she might just survive. Then the catwalk, which had been wedged in tightly, ripped free. As the doors passed by and she entered the blackness, her mind still functioned.

I guess this is it. A tear rolled down her face, freezing instantly as her mind ran through the memories she wouldn’t be able make, the child she would never have, and the love of her life she would never make memories with. She hoped David would find the video she’d made for him just before taking the XO position on the Rabin. Maybe he’ll understand how much I care for and love him. In the seconds just before Sheila passed, she silently repeated the Lord’s Prayer and hoped that there was truly something more for her in heaven.

34

While the Lion and her crew were busy battling the League capital ships, Amir and his wing had been making short work of the remaining League bombers and fighters. Though their losses were much higher than he would expect to see in a fight between nearly equal numbers of League and CDF craft, his wing had finally come out on top.

When he turned his attention back to the League’s capital ships, it was clear from the chatter on the command channel that the Lion had taken significant damage. Amir pulled up the integrated command-operations picture in his HUD and studied the battlefield. The he cued his communications net and spoke into the mic. “Tulleny, how are you doing?”

“Just peachy, Command,” Tulleny responded in her clipped British accent.

“Form up the bombers. We’re going to hit the nearest League cruisers. They’re identified as Masters Three and Four in your HUD,” Amir said. “The Reapers will cover the bomber flight on its way in and engage point-defense emplacements with our neutron cannons.”

“Understood, Reaper One. When we get back, you owe us all a drink.”

Amir smirked. “You know I don’t drink.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

* * *

While the battle raged outside the Lion of Judah, a different battle was being fought within the engineering spaces. Hanson struggled to get the forward shield generators back online and recharged with energy because of damage to the Lion’s energy conduits. Unable to route power to the proper capacitor, he slammed his fist into the console in frustration.

Dr. Hayworth took notice and laid a hand on Hanson’s shoulder. “Calm yourself, Major. This amounts to our first test of the reactor and power system in a real-world situation. Naturally, problems are bound to happen.”

“Doctor, to state the obvious, we’ve got to get power to the forward shield generator. I don’t see how to do that with the number of relays currently blown.”

“Simple. We reroute the power around the damaged relay using the junction control panels. They function much like large power supply breakers.”

“One problem—those compartments are flooded with high levels of radiation.”

Hayworth shrugged, incredible calm showing through. “Well, there’s a solution for that. Sure, we might get some kind of strange cancer twenty years from now, but it beats spending our lives in a League gulag.”

“I’ll get a corpsman down here to administer treatment before we enter the lockers,” Hanson said then pulled up his wrist device. “Medical bay, this is Major Hanson. We need a corpsman with radiation exposure medication to the main engineering room ASAP.”

A second later, Hanson’s wrist device crackled. “Yes, sir. We’re sending someone down now, sir.”

Hanson tapped on his engineering tablet, pulling up a schematic of the ship. “We’ll need three more volunteers, Doctor. I’ll take the one closest, but we need to reroute four different relay points at the same time.”

Hayworth looked over Hanson’s shoulder. “Only two more. I’ll take this locker,” he said, pointing.

As they talked, a couple of contractors who had been listening in walked over.

“Sir,” one of them began, addressing Hanson. “We helped configure the system last week. More than anyone here, we understand how they’re laid out. We’ll take the other two.”

“I can’t allow you to do that,” Hanson said and looked at the man’s name badge. “Tomilison. It’s too great of a risk for a civilian.”

Tomilison grimaced. “We can handle it, Major. Time is of the essence, and we know exactly what to do.”

Hanson turned Hayworth, hoping for his approval, but his demeanor was inscrutable.

“Okay. Take the other two.”

As the two men nodded and began to walk off, Hanson called after them, “Godspeed.”

Hayworth cleared his throat. “I can’t stand that saying.”

“It doesn’t hurt you to hear it said, Doctor.”

“It annoys me.”

“Why don’t we focus on the job at hand and debate religion later?” Hanson replied with a forced smile. “Now, let’s get this done.”

35

While Amir and his flight group were busy taking the fight to the League, David had the task of waiting until the shields were recharged and the fire was out in the forward magazine. Of all the things I’m good at, waiting isn’t one of them. With nothing else to do but monitor the situation, he studied the tactical plot and made plans to reengage the League ships as soon as the Lion was able. He also pondered whether Seville had an elite group of crews he could call on, as the League ships currently opposing them appeared to be far from the inferior opponents he was used to fighting. It all pointed to an elaborate plot to drive a stake into the heart of the Terran Coalition. If the Ark Royal had engaged this battle group, it would’ve been destroyed, but at least with the Lion, we’ve got a chance to win.

Looking over at the empty XO chair, David prayed Sheila was having success fighting the fire.

Ruth’s voice cut into his mental reverie. “Conn, TAO. Friendly fast movers have destroyed Master Four.”

David’s gaze snapped back to the tactical plot. “Acknowledged, TAO. What’s the status of the remaining contacts?”

“Our fighters are engaging Master Three, sir, though roughly twenty percent of them have been disabled or destroyed.”

David frowned. A twenty-percent-loss rate among small craft was very high, though it stood to reason that the League fighters were also manned by elite pilots, so perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Hopefully, our search and rescue teams can save our pilots after this battle.

Taylor spoke up from his station. “Conn, Communications. Damage-control reports that the fire in the forward magazine is out, and the fire relight watch has been set.”

Inwardly, David breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Way to go, Sheila. That’s going to be worth a nice bottle of something. He turned his attention back to the tactical plot. As he watched, one of the icons for the League cruisers winked out.

“Conn, TAO. Master Three has been destroyed,” Ruth said immediately.

“Acknowledged, TAO.”

David watched to see what the two remaining Rand-class cruisers would do. They formed up near the League dreadnought but did not attempt to move forward to engage the Lion. He believed that they were trying to provide point-defense covering fire for the Destruction.

An incoming message from engineering blinked on David’s personal communication panel. He pushed a button to open the channel.

“Conn, Engineering. Forward shields are back online and will recharge over the next thirty seconds,” Hanson said, his breathing labored.

“Understood. Overall power-plant status?”

“We had radiation leakage through our coolant system and some of the power conduits that overloaded. Several of us, including me, have been treated for radiation exposure. No casualties, sir.”

At the mention of a radiation leak, David’s mind went into overdrive about yet another problem. “Understood, Major. Cohen out. Conn, TAO. Shield status?”

“Back to eighty-five percent of charge, sir. We’re ready to engage the generator.”

“TAO, raise forward shields. Navigation, intercept course on Master One. Let’s end this.”

David turned to Taylor. “Communications, get me Colonel Amir.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Colonel Amir patched into your console.”

David spoke into his mic. “Colonel Amir, how’s your wing holding up?”

Amir’s voice crackled through the speaker. “We’re hanging together, sir. About to take another run at the Leaguers.”

“Stand by on that, Amir. We’re going to engage the remaining League vessels. The TAO will vector you in as we begin our assault.”

“Understood, Colonel Cohen.”

“Lion out.” David clicked off the communications channel.

“Conn, Navigation. Intercept course laid in for Master One, sir,” Hammond interjected.

“TAO, how many Hunter and Starbolt missiles do we have left in our forward missile launch array?”

“Twelve Hunters, one hundred Starbolts, sir,” Ruth said.

With only twelve Hunters remaining, David would have to be judicious in their use. Starbolt missiles were fusion warheads with a rudimentary LIDAR-based tracking system, at least compared to the Hunter variant. They were great weapons but were far more susceptible to jamming and point defense. Despite their shortcomings, they could fire the entire salvo off in one shot, overwhelming the point-defense systems of the League’s flagship. First things first. Gotta take out those Rands and clear the battle space.

“Navigation, flank speed.”

“Conn, Navigation. Flank speed, aye,” Hammond said crisply.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master Two, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

“Conn, TAO. Firing solutions set for Master Two.”

“Match bearings, shoot, all weapons,” David said as he peered down at the tactical plot to see the effect of the weapons’ release.

Magnetic-cannon rounds thundered away from the Lion, the energy release nudging the ship slightly to the side, followed by neutron-beam strikes.

“Conn, TAO. Master Two has sustained significant damage,” Ruth confirmed. Just a few seconds later, she continued. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One, Two, and Five. Sublight engine light-off. They’re moving toward us at flank speed. Enemy vessels are firing, sir.”

David’s eyes were glued to the tactical plot. He knew that he had to defeat the League ships in detail. As plasma charges smacked the Lion’s shields, the ship shuddered and rocked. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Two. Target its engines and weapons with all forward magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

“Conn, TAO. Firing solutions set for Master Two.”

“Match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”

More rounds shot out of the mag-cannons and raced toward the Rand-class cruiser then slammed into its weakened shields. The first few were stopped, their kinetic energy absorbed, before the cruiser’s shields failed. The rest of the shells breached the vessel’s hull, causing multiple explosions. Ruth deftly followed up with neutron beams, which speared the stricken vessel from one end to the other. A moment later, the League cruiser exploded into a large cloud of debris.

“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed, sir!” Ruth nearly shouted, almost gleeful.

David had noticed that Ruth seemed to enjoy destroying League ships. He made a mental note to discuss that privately with her at some point before looking back down at his tactical plot. “Good shooting, TAO,” he said, dialing it down a bit. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Five. Magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

The battle was becoming something of a rote engagement. While the Lion clearly held the edge against smaller League ships—she’d taken a beating in the process. David’s status display showed that the Lion’s forward shields had dipped below sixty percent of their energy rating. Doing some quick math, he estimated they only had five or six more salvos before the forward shields collapsed again. The last Rand had to be neutralized quickly, and he ran multiple scenarios on methods to disable the Destruction without a protracted fight.

“Conn, TAO. Firing solutions set for Master Five.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons,” David said almost automatically, his battle rhythm kicking in.

As the Lion stabbed at the remaining Rand with its weapons suite, incoming fire from both League ships slammed into the Lion’s shield grid. Sectors overloaded and failed, leaving other deflector emitters to compensate for their loss. Soon, the overworked shield generator would fail again and leave the Lion defenseless along her forward arc.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Five. Master Five has taken position out of the line of fire behind Master One.”

“Acknowledged, TAO.” David said peered at his plot. So this is it. All or nothing, and success depended on his next course of action. “Communications, get me Colonel Amir.”

“Colonel Amir is now linked into your comm panel, sir,” Taylor said after a moment.

“Go ahead, Colonel Cohen.” The transmitter crackled.

“Amir, do you have enough anti-ship munitions left to effectively engage the point-defense systems on the Destruction?”

“Many of my bombers are Winchester, sir.” Winchester was the code for “out of ammunition.” “But we have enough to degrade the Destruction’s point-defense emplacements on one arc.”

David looked at Ruth. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do, everyone. We only get one shot, so pay attention. Navigation, lay in a course that takes us to point-blank range of Master One then moves on a parallel course to her. TAO, we’re going to engage Master One with our magnetic cannons and our neutron beams as we approach and fire a final broadside into her at point-blank range, then we’re going to launch every last missile we have in our forward VRLS array into that ship. While we’re doing this, Colonel Amir and his wing will engage Master One and destroy as many point-defense emplacements as possible to ensure enough of our missiles get through to knock Master One out. Everyone clear on their part?”

Nods came from Ruth and Hammond, and Amir said, “Yes, sir.”

“Colonel Amir, proceed to attack Master One’s point-defense emplacements.”

“Aye, sir. Amir out.”

“Conn, Navigation. Course laid in as ordered,” Hammond called out.

“Navigation, engage full speed.”

“Engaged, sir.”

The inertial force of the massive ship moving forward could be felt throughout the vessel. Even with inertial dampening fields, David was still pressed back into his seat just a bit.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

“Firing solutions set.”

“TAO, match bearings, shoot all weapons,” David ordered.

The tactical plot showed the remaining fighters from Amir’s wing engaging Master One. Over the next few minutes, multiple salvos were exchanged between the Lion and the Destruction. While Amir’s small craft took a beating, they succeeded at knocking down many point-defense emplacements along the side of the Destruction that David planned to assault with one hundred twelve missiles.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, magnetic cannons, neutron beams, and all remaining missiles in our forward missile cell.”

“Conn, TAO. Firing solutions set.”

“Navigation, ETA to parallel course on Master One?”

“Thirty seconds, sir.”

Almost as soon as Hammond finished her report, Ruth broke in, “Conn, TAO. Forward shield has collapsed, sir.”

David confirmed it almost immediately on his viewer. Recalling a quote from military history—“Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.”—he pressed on. “Navigation, steady as she goes. Flank speed. TAO, lock all magnetic cannons into position for a full broadside.”

The Destruction continued to pound the Lion. The ship shuddered with each hit. Several consoles on the bridge suffered from blown fuses, and a power junction in the overhead blew out. Yet through it all, David’s gaze went between the view of the outside and his tactical plot.

As the ship lined up for what he hoped was the final attack, he gave the order to fire. “TAO, shoot, all weapons, Master One.”

One hundred twelve missiles thundered out of the Lion’s forward launch array along with a salvo of magnetic-cannon shells. The shells hit first at close range, severely weakening the shields of the Destruction. It took the missiles a few seconds to lock on to the Destruction, then they plunged into short terminal burns, exploding across the surface of the massive ship. The degraded point-defense systems could only stop a few of the multimegaton-yield fusion weapons, which continued to rain down on the dreadnought. Eventually, the Destruction’s shields failed, and the warheads exploded on its armor and superstructure. Large chunks of the enemy vessel’s armor blasted off into space. Adding to the maelstrom was neutron-beam fire from the Lion of Judah, slicing through the weakened hull of the Destruction. The onslaught was simply too great. Secondary explosions began throughout the Destruction, and without warning, its engineering section violently blew apart, crippling what was left of the starship.

* * *

“Our stern has exploded, Admiral!” a panicked tactical officer called out.

The bridge rocked furiously, throwing crew members out of their harnesses. Fires started as massive power overloads coursed through the energy conduits of the mighty vessel, shorting on consoles and causing secondary explosions.

“Engineering, report!” Seville shouted.

“Confirmed, Admiral. Our stern along with the reactor cores suffered a catastrophic breach.”

No. So close. How could these religious fanatics defeat my finest ships? “Can we move?”

“Admiral… we don’t have any engines or reactors to power them. The Destruction is crippled,” an engineering sub-station officer replied.

“We should consider abandoning ship,” Strappi whispered into Seville’s ear.

As Seville pondered the idea, another wave of explosions rocked the bridge, causing pieces of the overhead to collapse. Metal shards blasted the bridge, some impaling members of the crew and others destroying consoles. Smoke spread out, covering the entire space in a haze. Before he could react, debris fell directly on top of his chair. Searing pain swept through his body, and he screamed. Then unconsciousness took him into its merciful embrace.

* * *

The bridge crew of the Lion watched the destruction unfold on their monitors.

Ruth’s voice went up an octave. “Conn, TAO. Master One neutralized, sir.”

Shouts and cheers rang out from across the bridge, but the master chief cut them off quickly. “As you were. Maintain proper bridge protocol.”

David stood and walked over to Ruth’s station. “Is any part of Master One combat capable, TAO?”

Ruth shook her head. “Negative, sir. I’m showing life-pod launches now. Master Five is picking them up and has powered down its weapons systems. She’s charging her Lawrence drive. Would you like to engage, sir?”

The League had killed so many, destroying the lives of millions of people throughout the Terran Coalition, not to mention its own citizens. I’m no better than them if I kill fleeing people in life pods. Forget that it's against the law. It’s wrong. Enough death for one day. “Negative, TAO. Do not engage. We’ll let them run back to Earth and spread word of our new combat capability.”

David half expected Ruth to argue with him. Fire shone in her eyes, but decorum prevailed.

“Aye, sir. Standing down,” she said, frustration evident.

David walked back to his chair and sat down. “Communications, signal the air boss to launch search and rescue. Let’s get our pilots home.”

* * *

Seville slowly became aware of his surroundings as consciousness returned. The walls of the passageway slowly moved, and he realized someone was dragging him.

“Where am I?”

“Deck three, Admiral,” Strappi said, panting.

Seville fell to the deck roughly.

The political officer’s face appeared in his line of sight. “I gave the order to abandon ship. The Destruction is lost, as was the battle.”

“My crew?”

“The remaining cruiser is picking up as many life pods as it can. They’re waiting until we can get you on board and the Terrans have ceased firing. We must hurry, Admiral.”

“I’m not going to be of much use. I can’t feel my legs,” Seville said hoarsely.

“Just lie still. We’re only a hundred meters from safety.”

All he’d have to do is leave me to die. I would have left him, just like I left his counterpart twenty-seven years ago. Why would he help me now?

Strappi picked Seville up again by the shoulders and dragged him down the corridor. It seemed like hours before they reached a bank of escape pods, and he was roughly shoved into the nearest open hatch. As the pod hurtled toward the lone League vessel that remained intact, he pondered what had gone wrong.

I don’t care what it takes or how long it takes me. I will kill David Cohen and destroy the Terran Coalition. Pain spread across every fiber of his being, while his mind focused on nothing but revenge.

36

Calvin looked down at the ticking clock. Like something out of a goofy holodrama, each second counted down to their last moments.

“Gunny, can you disarm this thing?” he asked Uzun before taking up a defensive position in front of the console.

Uzun immediately pulled out a small tablet and began interfacing it with the League machine. After thirty seconds, he said, “Colonel, without the command codes for this ship, I can’t disarm the self-destruct from here.”

Calvin whirled around. “Gunny, I need options. Right now. Because leaving my brothers and sisters behind is not an option.”

“I can disarm it from inside the reactor core.”

Making a face, Calvin said, “Gunny, isn’t an energized reactor core highly radioactive, not to mention incredibly hot?”

“This ship’s reactor was SCRAMED, so it’s cooled off enough that I can walk around it inside my suit.”

“Okay, but the radiation hasn’t just disappeared. You can’t go in there,” Calvin retorted.

Uzun grabbed Calvin’s battle armor and pulled his helmet in so that it touched his. “Colonel, listen to me. I have to disarm the self-destruct on this ship, or we’re all dead. There’s still enough time for the boarding teams to get out but not to evacuate the POWs. I’m not leaving a brother- or sister-in-arms behind, just like you wouldn’t. The only way for me to stop that self-destruct is to enter the reactor core.”

Calvin shook his head. “No can do, Gunny. You enter that core, and you’re dead. There’s got to be another way.”

Uzun shook Calvin’s battle armor. “I will have forty-five seconds once I get inside. That’s enough to cut the required circuits so that the self-destruct charges won’t fire. There is no other option. Now, get the hell out of my way.”

Uzun was right. Calvin would do it himself, but he didn’t know what to do inside the core. “Okay, Gunny. When you get to heaven’s shores, you make sure they’re properly guarded by Marines. You hear me?” He tried his utmost to push the pain out of his voice.

Uzun moved forward and entered the heavily lead-lined airlock that led to the reactor core. “I’ll do my best, Colonel.” As the airlock cycled, he continued, “Colonel, it was an honor to serve with you.”

Calvin watched from the window. “Likewise, Gunny. Godspeed.”

Uzun snapped off a final salute as the inner airlock door opened, and he dashed through. The door automatically closed behind him.

Calvin stared at the countdown on his heads-up display. After forty seconds, and with fifteen seconds to go on the countdown, he heard Uzun’s scratchy voice from his communications set.

“Colonel, it’s done. I disconnected more than enough circuits to prevent a self-destruct.” Uzun coughed and gasped.

“Gunny, you hang tight. I’m going to get help, and we’re going to get you out of there,” Calvin said.

“You’re a good liar, Colonel. I only have one request. Tell my wife and my sons I love them very much and that I hope to see them again in paradise.”

Calvin almost told Uzun that he would tell them himself but decided against it. There was no way the man was walking out of that core alive. “You have my word, Gunny,” he said, choking down his emotion.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“You hang in there, Uzun. That’s an order, Marine.”

There’s gotta be a way for me to get in here. Calvin ran the gauntlet of his suit across the airlock opening, scanning its interior. The radiation was off the charts. I go in there, I’m dead too. Nothing I can do to help him now. He pulled up the life-sign indicator for Uzun’s suit and found it had flatlined. “Dammit.”

Cabello and two other Marines walked toward him.

Bringing himself to attention, Cabello saluted Calvin. “Colonel, mission accomplished. This ship is secured.”

Calvin quickly returned the salute. “Good work, Major. Casualties? Status of the POWs?”

“Six Marines KIA, sir. Almost everyone else on the breach team was wounded, including me. Minor injuries, for the most part. A lot of bruised egos. POWs are secured, but they’re not in great shape. We need to get doctors up here, and they’ll need some food. Still, this is a good day. We saved a lot of our own.”

Calvin looked over his shoulder at the airlock door. “It still cost us a lot. Uzun sacrificed himself to stop the self-destruct.” He turned back to Cabello. “There are days I get really sick of this war, Major. I’m sick of seeing good men and women willingly sacrifice themselves just to save another. It’s a damn waste, if you ask me. All for some bunch of communist assholes that can’t be content with controlling hundreds of planets.” He was silent as his eyes swept the engineering space. “Get support up here and start rounding up the prisoners.”

“Yes, sir,” Cabello said crisply before walking off.

Calvin stared at the airlock door, thinking about Uzun’s sacrifice along with those made throughout the war. Not only those who perished for the cause of freedom, but also their families. No one in the Terran Coalition had been left untouched. Including my wife. While saving the POWs was a victory, it seemed like a bitter defeat to have been so close to peace, only to find out it was all a lie.

37

The last two League ships jumped out, taking with them as many life pods as they could carry, though many were left behind. The Lion’s search and rescue teams collected them along with ejected pilots.

The mood on the bridge of the Lion of Judah was near jubilation as David stared at the tactical view, watching as Colonel Amir’s wing returned. He shared their mood, knowing that the decisive defeat of the League battle group could mark a turning point in the war. If nothing else, it would provide a much-needed boost to the flagging morale of a war-weary nation. What better way to do that than by destroying the flagship of the League fleet and hopefully killing its leader?

He chastised himself for hoping Seville was dead. Regardless of the man’s crimes, it wasn’t his place to judge. That was God’s job, but a part of him sorely hoped that one of the shells fired into the side of the Destruction had arranged a face-to-face meeting.

Where’s Sheila? She needs to get back up here and share in the celebration of a job well done.

Taylor interrupted David’s thoughts. “Conn, Communications. I have Colonel Demood for you, sir, on the vidlink.”

“Put him through to my viewer, Lieutenant.”

A moment later, Calvin’s face appeared on David’s monitor. Blood streaked across it, and his armor was scorched in many places. “Sir, can you hear me?” he asked.

“Loud and clear, Colonel.”

“We’ve secured the transport and rescued at least three thousand POWs. Mission accomplished.”

David sat back. “That… is incredible news, Colonel. Any casualties on our side?”

“Light, sir. I’ve got eighteen Marines KIA and twenty-three seriously wounded, and I think almost all of us got hit by something.” Calvin cracked a smile. “We gave a hell of a lot better than we took, sir.”

David nodded. “Good job, Demood. We’ll be back shortly.”

“One other thing, Colonel. We lost a contractor who volunteered for the mission. One of the finest displays of bravery I’ve ever seen. Without him, none of us would be here. You make sure he’s remembered.”

“You have my word. No one will be forgotten today,” David said, raising an eyebrow. He decided not to inquire about the clearly broken regulations.

“Thank you, sir. Demood out.”

David looked around the bridge and stood to acknowledge the celebration with his crew. “Good job, everyone!” he roared before clapping.

The result was infectious. Officers, enlisted personnel, and senior NCOs all clapped and cheered. Then as quickly as it had started, the release of emotion was done. The bridge crew went back to their duties, and David stared forward, proud of them for what they had accomplished.

“Sir,” Taylor said with an unusual tenor to his voice. “I have a message for you from engineering. I think you may want to take this in private.”

David looked at Taylor quizzically. “I’m sure I can hear anything from Engineering on the bridge, Lieutenant. What’s going on?”

Taylor gulped. “Sir, Major Thompson was in the forward magazine when it was exposed to vacuum. She was sucked into space, sir.”

“Our emergency pressure suits only have six hours of air. We need to get search and rescue into space immediately. Contact Colonel Amir on a priority channel, Lieutenant.”

Taylor looked down. “I’m sorry, sir. She wasn’t wearing a suit.” His gaze rose. “There is no way she could have survived, sir.”

David was stunned and at a loss for words for a few moments. He ran through any scenario in which Sheila could have survived but found none. As the news started to sink in, his emotions began to fail him. The room spun, and all he could think of was that it couldn’t be true and had to be a bad dream. When the spinning stopped, and Taylor was still staring at him, the enormity of losing his best friend hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I see,” he said slowly. “Deploy search and rescue. We owe it to her to find her body to bring home for a proper Christian burial.” He stumbled over the final words, not wanting them to be true. His voice broke, and he almost started sobbing right there on the bridge.

“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”

Ruth and Hammond looked at each other with concern.

“Lieutenant Goldberg, you have the conn,” David said slowly. He stood and stepped to one side.

“This is Lieutenant Goldberg, I have the conn.” She moved to the command chair.

“I will be in my cabin,” David said with incredible difficulty. His objective was to get off the bridge without breaking down in tears in front of his crew.

As he walked toward the hatch, each step became harder. Every passing second seemed like an eternity. His steps slowed, and tears ran down his face.

Master Chief Tinetariro saw them and walked to his side. “Let me help you, sir,” she said under her breath. Taking David’s arm, she guided him into the passageway.

After the hatch to the bridge closed behind them, he said between sobs, “Thank you, Master Chief. I need to be alone.”

“I know what you’re going through, sir. I’ve had to lay too many friends into the dirt. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

“I’ve lost more friends than I can count. But this…” David bit his lip. “This is just different. Not her.”

“If I die in cold space, send my body home to rest, fold my hands across my chest, and tell my mom I did my best,” Tinetariro said, repeating an often-heard CDF marching cadence.

Slowly growing numb, David gave a slight smile despite the tears rolling down his face. “Thank you, Master Chief,” he said sadly. “Carry on.”

Tinetariro nodded silently and watched as David made his way down the passageway.

38

Several hours later, Ruth still held the conn. Casualty reports were coming in, and the rescue teams combing the wreckage of the League ships had finished their work. Of the twenty-nine fighters and bombers that had been lost, search and rescue had found eighteen of the pilots and brought them home safely. They’d lost another nine personnel aboard the Lion, plus the Marines that had died storming the transport. After entering all the names into the ship’s log, Ruth transmitted the list and the actions of the day to CDF Command.

Dozens of ships’ worth of reinforcements had arrived, led by the CSV Ark Royal and her battle group. General Barton, however, was conspicuously absent. Ruth hoped he had been relieved of command. I hate defeatists.

Hanging over the bridge, however, was the death of Sheila. Ruth had grown to count her as a close friend in the seven months they had served together, but Sheila meant far more to David. They’d known each other since boot camp, nearly seventeen years ago. After his exit from the bridge, all of them knew that David’s spirit was crushed. Ruth had prayed for him and dearly hoped he would walk back through the hatch at the aft of the bridge to retake command. At least the rescue teams had located her body. It could be given the proper burial that she deserved.

“Conn, Communications. I have General MacIntosh requesting a vidlink,” Taylor said.

“Communications, route it to the command viewer.”

A few seconds later, General MacIntosh’s face appeared on the viewer. His lips curled up with surprise as he realized Ruth was in the CO’s chair. “Lieutenant Goldberg, I didn’t expect to see you holding the conn. Where are Colonel Cohen and Major Thompson?”

Ruth swallowed. “Sir, have you received the reports we passed back through the Ark Royal?”

MacIntosh stared at her in a way that betrayed his impatience. “Nothing detailed, Lieutenant. All I know is that we won. Now, answer my question.”

“Colonel Cohen is in his quarters, sir. Major Thompson was killed in action.”

MacIntosh’s jaw dropped and hung there for a moment. “I see. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. What’s the status of the rest of the crew and the ship?”

“We had light causalities, sir, mostly among our pilots and the Marines. The ship took some armor and hull damage, but we’re fine. Nothing a couple of days docked at Canaan station can’t fix,” Ruth said, focusing her mind elsewhere to avoid any display of emotion.

“That is good to hear, Lieutenant. When are you jumping back to Canaan?”

“As soon as we recover the last of our search and rescue craft, General.”

“Very well. Please pass on my condolences to Colonel Cohen. I’ll be waiting for you all at the Canaan station. Godspeed. MacIntosh out.”

The viewer shut off before Ruth could respond.

She turned to Taylor. “Communications, signal our search and rescue unit. Please confirm they are returning to the ship and have completed their work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor said. A few moments later, he spoke again. “They should be back on board within thirty minutes, ma’am.”

“Navigation, make ready to jump back to Canaan as soon as they’re fully on board.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The time seemed to pass by quickly for Ruth as the final wave of search and rescue craft came back into the hangar bays. She reviewed the logs from the weapons and defensive systems during the engagement for the fiftieth time and was confident that, in the coming days, she could get better performance out of the ship’s new techology now that they had concrete data on how it performed in actual combat.

Once the air boss had confirmed that the hangar was secured, Ruth said, “Navigation, are we ready to jump back to Canaan?”

“Charged and ready to engage, ma’am.”

“Navigation, engage Lawrence drive.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Hammond triggered the Lion’s massive Lawrence drive, opening an artificial wormhole directly in front of the mighty ship. Flying through the wormhole under sublight propulsion, the Lion crossed several lightyears of space in the blink of an eye.

“Conn, Navigation. Wormhole transit complete. Emergence within two thousand kilometers of target.”

“Navigation, put us into orbit around Canaan. Communications, signal Canaan space control, and request a berth at Canaan’s main shipyard,” Ruth ordered.

Ruth’s commands were acknowledged, and she gave the order to dock at Canaan’s main shipyard.

The third-watch tactical officer manning the tactical station turned back toward her. “Ma’am, I think you might want to see this.”

Ruth raised an eyebrow at the young man, who was departing from bridge protocol. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“It would be best if I put up on our main viewer.”

“Very well.”

A moment later, the holoscreen came alive with images of the exterior of the ship. Dozens of ships—mostly CDF, some national state militaries of the CDF, and even civilian yachts—lined the route the Lion would take to her berth. As the Lion passed, each ship fired a tracer round from their magnetic cannons or a low-power neutron beam.

The bridge crew watched in fascination as the multicolored salute went on and on. “Communications, transmit a picture of a broom to the fleet,” Ruth said.

“Ma’am?”

Ruth smiled. “Something Colonel Cohen did after a successful patrol on the Rabin. It’s the signal for a clean sweep—a completely successful mission in which we swept the enemy out of space.”

Taylor grinned, as did a number of the personnel on the bridge. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

For the next hour, the bridge crew maneuvered the Lion into her berth, after which Ruth informed David that the ship was docked. He was still declining voice communications and remained in his cabin. She worried for him, but knew he needed space and time to grieve.

* * *

After the Lion was fully docked and secured, David received several messages from Ruth on his personal tablet, asking him to come to the bridge. Her final plea asked him to join the senior officers in the cargo bay to perform the ceremony to offload the fallen soldiers, as their caskets were the first to leave the ship.

Staring ahead in a stupor, he ignored her messages. Over and over, he asked, Why? He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around why the one death had utterly wiped him out emotionally. Death knocked on the door every day. It was, as Seville had said, a constant companion to a soldier. But Sheila’s death was different.

The door chime went off, interrupting his thoughts. When he ignored it, the chime went off again, then again.

“Open!” he spat finally.

The hatch to his cabin unlocked, and Calvin strode in. “Colonel.”

“Colonel Demood.”

“David, I know what this is like. I’ve led Marines into battle for many years. I’ve seen the horrors of war, and I’ve had men die in my arms.”

“Sheila was more than just someone under my command. She was my best friend.”

Calvin made his way over to the couch David was sitting on and took a seat beside him. “Maybe I haven’t had my best friend die under my command. I’ll give you that. Look, Cohen, you can sit down here with the lights off and allow yourself to be swallowed by the pain. Or you can stand up, walk out of here with me, and go show Major Thompson and the rest of those who died today the honor that they deserve.”

Calvin’s words stung. David’s first reaction was to clap back, but he realized almost instantly that the man was right. Sitting there feeling sorry for himself was unbecoming, and if nothing else, it insulted Sheila’s memory. After a period of silence, he responded, “You’re right, Demood. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll join you in the hangar.”

Calvin put his hand on David’s shoulder. “I’ll see you shortly, Colonel.”

David watched Calvin walk out of his stateroom then forced himself to get up. He checked his uniform to ensure it was all properly fitted and within regulation, then he made his way to the hangar deck.

During his fifteen-minute walk, he passed by hundreds of officers and enlisted crew members. All of them were seemingly energized, and morale was high. Since most didn’t know the XO was dead, nor did any of them have the same kind of connection, David knew their reactions were normal, but it still made him mad.

The more he thought about the entire situation, the angrier he got. Reflecting on his decision not to fire on the escape pods detaching from the Destruction or to fire on the remaining League cruiser, David realized that he would have killed every last one of them if he could go back and change his decision.

When he strode into the hangar bay, several dozen caskets were arrayed across the floor near the giant space doors. An honor guard had been assembled, and the onboard band was present. David walked down the four rows of caskets, each adorned with the flag of the Terran Coalition.

Wondering which one was Sheila’s, he called out to the nearest enlisted crewman, “Corporal! Which one of these contains the remains of Major Thompson?”

A ruddy-faced young man walked closer to David. “Sir! Please follow me.”

After a short walk, the corporal gestured to a casket. “Major Thompson’s remains are in this one, sir.”

Still angry and sullen, David replied, “Thank you, Corporal.”

He spotted a single casket off to the side, its top uncovered. Furrowing his brow, David asked the young corporal, “Why does that casket lack a flag?”

“Sir, that casket contains the remains of a contractor. Regulations state that—”

“Which contractor, Corporal?”

“Hadi Uzun, sir.”

“The man that died on the transport?” He’d seen Calvin’s after-action report.

“Yes, sir.”

“The one man that kept thousands of POWs from being killed?” David asked, his voice growing louder.

“Sir, it is against regulations—”

“Do not quote regulations to me, Corporal!” David shouted. He was so close to losing control that he felt for the sidearm he’d been carrying earlier on his leg.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You will retrieve a flag and dress his casket with the proper respect it deserves. Are we clear, Corporal?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Why are you still standing in front of me? Get moving, Corporal!”

The young man scurried off as fast as he could.

Calvin and Tinetariro, who had been watching the exchange, made their way over to David.

“Are you okay, sir?” Calvin asked.

“I’ll be okay, if that’s what you’re asking, Colonel.”

“You seemed a little wound up there, sir.”

“The least we can do is honor their sacrifices.”

“Of course.”

Calvin and Tinetariro exchanged glances.

“Sir, I must remind you that Corporal Lewis was simply following regulations and orders,” Tinetariro said.”

Anger swept through David as he considered her words. Control had begun to return, though, and he bit off the angry comment that had leapt to mind. “Of course, Master Chief.”

David returned his gaze to Sheila’s casket. More than anything, he just wanted to see her one last time. It should be me in there. I should have gone to fight the fire and died, not her. I deserve to die for all the pain and suffering I’ve caused through my actions. Not her. Forcing himself not to tear up, he turned and walked away from the rest of the people in the hangar and stared out of the force-shield-protected area where fighters and bombers were launched from.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stared out into space, considering the events of the last week. At some point, he was snapped out of his thoughts by someone speaking to him from behind.

“Colonel,” Kenneth Lowe, the program manager for the contractors said quietly.

It took David a few moments to process Kenneth’s presence and turn toward him. “Kenneth.”

“Sir, I wanted to thank you for the respect extended to Hadi. He was a good man. One of my best field-electronics engineers.”

“He deserved nothing less.”

“It’s been an honor, sir.” Kenneth extended his hand.

David shook it firmly. “That feels like goodbye.”

“You’re not the only one who has a knack for breaking regulations, sir,” Kenneth said with levity.

“You weren’t supposed to stay on the ship after we put into space?”

“No, sir. I was specifically ordered not to do that.”

“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here. Only God knows how bad it would have been.”

“That doesn’t matter to SSI leadership. I’ve been given a choice between termination or resigning.”

David turned around fully to face Kenneth. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“No, sir. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with my deputy. He and the rest of the team will see you through.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Kenneth. How are you going to fight it?”

“Honestly, sir, I can’t, in good conscience, continue to work for the man I report to. I’m going to resign. That’ll make it easier to find another job. Perhaps someone will want to hire me. I’ll be back on CDF special programs in a week.” At the sight of a frown from David, Kenneth pressed on. “It’s okay, sir. The only thing that counts is the mission.”

David reflected on the harsh reality that, at times, regardless of whether what you did was the right thing, if you ran afoul of the system, the system would grind you down. “Good luck out there,” he finally replied before extending his hand one more time.

They shook hands firmly before Kenneth departed without further words, leaving David to his mental anguish.

After what seemed like an eternity of spending time alone with his thoughts, the space station’s honor guard was ready for the ceremonial removal of the fallen. Joined by the Lion’s Marines honor guard as well as a couple of musicians from the band, they all assembled just outside the hangar bay on what was referred to as the docking slip.

The musicians began to play the hymn “Amazing Grace” as the pallbearers carried the caskets from the ship and down the gangway to the awaiting vehicles for transport. It was, in many ways, a repeat of the ceremony David had participated in just two weeks prior on the Rabin. David snapped his hand to his brow in salute as each casket was carried down the gangway. The biggest difference between that dark day two weeks ago and today was that Sheila was not at his side. Instead, she was in one of the coffins. His heart broke in a way he had never felt as they carried her away.

Another difference was that some of the families of those lost had been able to make it to the docking slip along with members of the press. David bristled at the intrusion of the media. In his mind, they had no place in the ceremony, the most solemn of rituals performed by the CDF.

As each casket was unloaded, one of the members of the honor guard announced the name of the fallen soldier. If the family was present, their sobs rang out as it came forward.

As David fought to keep stoic in the face of his immense anguish, Hadi Uzun’s name was announced. As the flag-draped coffin that contained Uzun’s remains was taken down the gangway, a woman, whom David assumed was his wife, tore across the rope line that separated the onlookers from the ceremony. She rushed the casket, nearly toppling it from the anti-grav sled it had been placed on, and cried in agony as she held on.

A number of members of the honor guard exchanged glances, but no one wanted to be the one to pry her off. As David was the ranking officer, the task belonged to him. He made his way across the gangway and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

She turned to look at him, despair, grief, and sadness etched into her face. “Why?” she asked between sobs. “He’d been medically discharged. He wasn’t even in the military.”

“Mrs. Uzun?” David asked, and she nodded. “I didn’t have the privilege of knowing your husband. He joined the rescue mission for the POWs because he felt he was the only man who could do the job. His sacrifice saved the lives of thousands. It’s a small comfort, but you should be proud of him,” David managed to get out.

She took her hands off the casket and stood tall, though tears still streamed down her face. “That sounds like him. Always trying to right a wrong.”

David stepped forward and embraced her then guided her back to the area reserved for the families. They stood there together as the rest of the caskets were removed. Sheila’s was the last to go because of her position as the XO. As soon as her name was announced, he stiffened. Try as he might, he couldn’t hold in his emotions. He cried openly as her casket proceeded down the gangway.

Uzun’s wife took note and put her hand on his. “A friend?”

“The best human being I’ve ever known,” David replied.

“I am so sorry.”

“I hate this war.”

“Uzun used to say that it was better to die on our feet than live on our knees.”

David turned his head. “Wise words.”

A few moments later, Sheila’s casket was loaded into a vehicle and left the docking slip. The honor guard and those assembled began to depart.

After saying his goodbyes to Uzun’s wife, David stood on the dock for a long time.

Eventually, General MacIntosh roused David out of his contemplation. He briefed the general on the battle and what had happened with the League peace delegation. Seeing that David’s heart was crushed, MacIntosh let him go and told him they would resume the conversation later and that he and the command staff of the Lion were to be present the next day at a joint press conference with the president of the Terran Coalition and chief minister of the Saurian Empire.

Several hours later, David returned to his stateroom on the Lion. As he walked through the door, he tugged off his uniform sweater. After adjusting the lights to his liking, he sat on the couch for a while. David still could not make sense of the events of recent days. He was certainly not at peace with never seeing Sheila again. Trying to focus on a problem he could solve to take his mind off the pain, he decided to track down someone higher up the chain at SSI and talk to them about Kenneth and his team. He pulled out his tablet and made a video call to SSI’s main headquarters.

After the link connected, a smiling young woman’s face filled this screen. “Strathclyde Shipboard Integrators. How may I help you?”

David attempted a smile in return. “Hello. I’d like to speak with Margaret Lee, please.”

“I’m sorry, but Ms. Lee is in a meeting.”

“It’s imperative I speak with her, Miss.”

“Who may I tell her is calling?”

“Colonel David Cohen, Commanding Officer, CSV Lion of Judah.”

A pregnant pause followed. “The Colonel Cohen?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wait one moment, please. I’ll get her for you straight away.”

The screen switched to the SSI logo, and an infomercial played in the background. Pondering for a moment how joyless everything seemed, David realized that what just happened should be funny to him, but he could only barely muster a small smile.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked absentmindedly, even though no one was there to hear him.

A moment later, Margaret Lee appeared on the tablet. “Colonel Cohen, such a pleasure to speak to you today. What can I do for you, sir?”

“Thank you for taking my call, Ms. Lee. I’m reaching out to you to discuss your contracting team led by Kenneth Lowe.”

“Is there a problem, Colonel?” Margaret asked as her facial features went taut.

“Not per se. At least, not at this time. I would like to let you know that the actions of your team, and especially those of its leadership, including Mr. Lowe, as far as I’m concerned, were in the finest traditions of the Coalition Defense Force.”

“I see,” she forced out. “Were you aware of Mr. Lowe’s plan to stay aboard the ship when it put into space?”

“I was. In discussions with him, we determined that his team staying aboard was the only way to get the ship operational in case all of its functions were needed. Which… they were.”

“I wasn’t aware of that, Colonel. I thought it was simply a decision by Mr. Lowe. He is an outstanding program manager but can be rash.”

David smiled. “I have been called worse in my career, ma’am.” He paused before continuing. “I understand there may be some… impediments to Mr. Lowe continuing to support the Lion.”

“Ah, perhaps. I can’t really comment on that, Colonel. It’s an internal matter, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“Of course. But I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I view his continued support of this vessel as vital to our ongoing mission to defend the Terran Coalition. I hope that carries the appropriate weight with you and his other superiors.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “Of course. I understand, Colonel. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, ma’am—just keep the upgrades to my ship coming and a solid team to work on it.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Good day.”

“Good day, Ms. Lee.” David pressed the button to disconnect the call. He was confident that the message had been received.

He would try to go to bed and prepare himself for a joint press conference with the leaders of both the Terran Coalition and the Saurian Empire. The funerals were still being scheduled, but Sheila would be given full military honors. He understood President Spencer would be attending in person. Just getting through them would be difficult. After that, he somehow had to get ready to go back out to fight. Leaning his head back on the couch, he wondered if he would ever be right again.

39

Obi Sherazi, the chief minister of the Saurian Empire’s governing body, walked with a small group of advisors and his security detail toward what the Terrans called the South Briefing Room in their governmental complex on Canaan.

The Saurians were a race of bipedal humanoid aliens that the Terran Coalition had encountered roughly two centuries before. The two races had fought several hot wars and experienced a cold war before relations warmed and they became, if not allies, at least trading partners. Saurians lacked hair. The tops of their heads were instead colorful patches of scales.

Sherazi had visited the complex on numerous occasions, as he had been attempting to act as a broker between the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol in the interests of creating a lasting peace. The last twenty-four hours had seen the high-water mark for those efforts, followed by the realization that the League simply had no honor. No peace would come unless the League was defeated militarily first.

“We have to do something more to respond,” Sherazi said to no one in particular.

His senior advisor, Sardar Ihejirika—a younger Saurian who had been aligned with him for some time—flared his scales. “What would you have us do, Chief Minister? We tried to do what the Terrans couldn’t… get them a peace deal.”

Sherazi bristled. “We have sat back for years and watched this play out. Haven’t you once considered that we should assist them more than we have?”

“I’m not inclined to counsel you to help the race that set our empire back a hundred years.”

Sherazi hissed. “Why do you persist in that old way of thinking? Our empire had grown overconfident, insular, and decadent. We thought we had the right to decide who was allowed to exist. That the Terrans helped us rebuild after they defeated our empire shows us their true nature. One could even say that the war was one of the best things to happen to our empire in centuries. They showed us who we truly are.”

“Send them a few more ships or lift the rules against our citizens volunteering to join the Terrans’ military. What other steps could we take?”

That was a loaded question. “Once the League finishes with the Terrans and has defeated them, they’ll move on. To us. To the Matrinids. To anyone else they can conquer.”

“We don’t know that. The League claims it has no designs on our territory or any of the other races. Only the Terrans and any human colonies that aren’t under League rule.”

“You don’t honestly believe an empire that relishes in expansion and preaches human purity is going to stop on our doorstep? We lack the military might to defeat their entire fleet. They know that.”

“Then send the chimps more war material. Prop them up. But don’t risk our sons and daughters in their war!” Ihejirika hissed.

Sherazi whirled around and bared his teeth at Ihejirika, hissing as well. “Do not use dishonorable and racist language in my presence, young man. Or you will find yourself without a job!”

Ihejirika bowed his head. “I apologize, Chief Minister.”

Sherazi inclined his head. Turning back around, he decided that more than ever, something had to be done to change the balance of power. He had prayed that a path would reveal itself. This moment had been coming for years, and successive Saurian leaders had avoided the question of what to do, if anything, in the fight against the League of Sol. But the difficult decision could wait no longer.

Walking up to the door leading to the briefing room, he knew it was time. “Let’s get on with it.”

* * *

After a photo opportunity was concluded, President Spencer and Chief Minister Sherazi took their places on the stage at the front of the briefing room. Dozens of reporters from both empires were present in the expansive meeting space. The Lion’s senior officers were seated behind both President Spencer and Chief Minister Sherazi.

As the visiting head of state, protocol dictated that Sherazi go first. “Mr. President, honored members of both the Terran Coalition and the Saurian Empire’s diplomatic service, honored members of both our militaries, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity to share this joint podium today,” Sherazi said into the microphone at his lectern. “I wish to honor the gallantry and sacrifice of the brave soldiers who prevented the League from killing our diplomatic team and for their courage in the face of great odds.” His gaze swept over the crowd both in front of and behind him. “I also wish to honor Major Sheila Thompson. Her actions in saving her ship are consistent with the finest traditions of not only your military service but of the Saurian Empire as well.”

As he spoke of Sheila, he seemed to study David, who took notice and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and thanks.

Sherazi nodded back before continuing. “Major Thompson’s sacrifice was also consistent with her beliefs, ones by me and most of our citizens. There is no greater love for another than to give your life to save them. This was given to us many thousands of years ago by our greatest prophet. That maxim was taught to you as well.

“Humans always seem to have a saying or quote that fits a given situation,” he continued. “One that I’ve remembered often of late is this: ‘All that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’” Sherazi pursed his lips. “For far too long, I and many of those in the Saurian Empire have done nothing. Oh, we’ve sent medical supplies, a few dozen outdated ships we would have scrapped anyway, not to mention that many young men and women who have more honor than their elders have defied our laws and the specter of dishonor to come and join the Coalition Defense Force.”

David pondered exactly where he was going and noted that the room had become very still. The sound of a pin dropping would have had the same effect as a grenade going off. Whatever Sherazi was leading to was big.

“But here we stand, continuing to shield ourselves with words, refusing to join this noble fight and do what is right. I have decided that the Saurian Empire will no longer do nothing.” Sherazi took a step from behind his lectern and turned toward President Spencer. “Mr. President, the Saurian Empire will join the fight against the treacherous League of Sol. Together and with anyone else who will join us, we will unite to defeat the League wherever it may slither. We will not rest until the League is destroyed and its ideology removed from the galaxy.”

Spencer appeared dumbstruck. Of all the things anyone expected, that wasn’t one of them. There would be problems, the least of which would be getting Saurian and human to work together without coming to blows. But those were good problems and ones he might be able to help figure out.

Spencer crossed the stage to meet Chief Minister Sherazi, and they shook hands firmly. Photographers rushed forward with a flurry of flashes, and the room erupted in applause and babble.

“Speaking on behalf of all citizens in the Terran Coalition, I say we would be honored to see the Saurian Empire join us in this fight.” Spencer’s voice was full of emotion.

The members of the diplomatic team, the military, and many of the reporters in the room began to applaud, as did the crew of the Lion of Judah.

David thought that perhaps all the pain and sacrifice had been worth it to get to this point, except for Sheila’s death.

It took at least thirty seconds for the crowd to quiet down, then reporters began shouting questions.

“Chief Minister Sherazi, the Saurians have stayed neutral for twenty-seven years. How will your people react to this seemingly unilateral declaration of war?” a female reporter at the front of the room asked.

“They will see the justness of our cause and rally to it,” Sherazi replied.

“And if they don’t?” another reporter shouted back.

“Then I will call on anyone who disagrees to challenge me to blood combat,” Sherazi said smugly. He was renowned as a warrior in the Saurian Empire.

“Chief Minister, how many ships will you send?”

Sherazi turned to face the man. “Aside from our home-defense guard, everything we have.”

More reporters started to speak over one another, then a young woman screamed the loudest. “Mr. President! There are reports that our forces fired first against the League peace delegation. Is that true?”

“Not credible reports, and you know it. Ms. Roberts, the CDF has provided direct sensor data that clearly shows the Destruction fired first.”

David fumed as Spencer fielded the question. How could anyone believe that the League was the victim?

Not to be deterred, the young woman yelled a follow-up question before he could call on someone else. “Sensor logs can be faked, sir. How do we know the CDF is telling the truth?”

“There are also multiple civilian sources that confirm it. Many telescopes were aimed at the incoming peace delegation. Do your homework. The facts speak for themselves. You can interview the thousands of people aboard the Lion of Judah, tens of thousands more on our space-based military installations, or aboard the hundreds of civilian craft in orbit who all saw the Destruction fire first. Next!”

A reporter from Canaan News Network, a staunch supporter of the war effort and defense forces, yelled, “Chief Minister, why, after nearly thirty years, is the Saurian Empire joining the fight?”

Sherazi responded, “Because this is the first time the Saurians have had leadership willing to make a tough decision. Joining a war isn’t something to be done lightly or without consideration. In truth, we should have joined this fight many years ago.”

Yet another reporter shouted, “Bret Stevens, Galactic News Network. Mr. President, while surely this is a shot in the arm to our war effort, do you really think one victory and a new ally is enough to stem the tide of the League? Are you going to consider renewed diplomatic efforts?”

Spencer leaned forward into the lectern. “Mr. Stevens, any time the League would like to surrender, we’re all ears.”

Most in the room laughed.

The reporter persisted. “What about a negotiated peace, Mr. President?”

“We’ve tried many times to reach a negotiated peace, Mr. Stevens. You know that. Everyone in the press corps knows that, and so does every citizen in the Terran Coalition. Those attempts have failed. Perhaps after we’ve kicked the League out of our space and with our new allies taking the war to the League, they’ll want to reconsider. At that point, we’ll address it. Next!”

A reporter at the back of the room stood to get the president’s attention, and Sherazi pointed at her. “Chief Minister, Mr. President, when will the Lion of Judah return to the front against the League?”

David shuddered. The thought of going back into combat with his mind unsettled was unappealing, to say the least. He barely heard President Spencer say that operational details of the war couldn’t be discussed.

The rest of the press conference went by at a snail’s pace for David, and when it was finally over, he and the rest of the military personnel stood as the president and the chief minister left the room first, followed by their security details.

After the reporters had left, David and the remaining senior staff from the Lion congregated. He had nothing left. I just want to go back to my bunk.

Ruth filled the silence. “It is far too early to end our day. Why don’t we go have a drink and toast the fallen?”

Before David could say no, Calvin interjected, “Best idea I’ve heard all day. You must have Marine blood, Lieutenant.”

“From a medical perspective, I think it would do us all good,” Tural said, drawing laughter from the group.

“Come on, sir,” Ruth said as she glanced at David. “You need to be around people right now. We all do.”

Okay, time to put on the happy command face. “You’ve convinced me. Where’re we going?”

“How about the Ready Room?” Hanson asked.

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Do you own stock in that bar or something, Major?”

“No, it’s just a good place and doesn’t rip off the military.”

“That works for me. Let’s go, people,” David said, ending the debate. This will be good for morale. Perhaps some camaraderie will help ease the burden on my heart and on the rest of us.

They walked out together.

* * *

The group took over a section of the Ready Room, breaking into smaller units around high-top tables to talk. Hanson, Ruth, and David gravitated together. They had been comrades in arms for the longest, and all knew Sheila well.

“There’s one thing I’m certain of,” Hanson said between sips of his beer.

“What’s that?” Ruth asked.

“Sheila would be happy we’re doing this.”

David glanced up from his drink. “I’ll agree with that.”

“Cheer up, sir,” Ruth said with concern.

“I’ll be okay. Someday,” David replied, trying to keep his face neutral.

Watching David and Ruth, Hanson was desperate to change the subject. “How about plastering a League dreadnought on our first time at bat?”

“Did you mix in a sports metaphor?” Ruth asked, feigning disbelief.

“Uh, yeah, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Ruth. We’re not on duty.”

“Right, Ruth.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s a reason you don’t have a girlfriend, Hanson.”

“I’m just waiting for the right girl.”

“You’d take any girl that showed interest in you, at this point.”

“That’s not true!” Hanson sputtered for a second, then thinking of a retort, he pressed on. “Like you’re one to talk. When was the last time you went on a date?”

Ruth gave an evil smile. “The last guy I dated quit talking to me after I explained to him that my job was killing League soldiers in large numbers.”

“I’m really glad you’re on our side.”

David looked up from his drink. “You two should get a room or something.”

Hanson felt his face run hot as he looked from Ruth to David.

Ruth laughed. “Ooh, I think that one hit home.”

Calvin butted into the conversation. “What’s going on here? Our engineer looks like his reactor’s about to blow.”

Even David managed a smile as Ruth, Hanson, and Calvin laughed uproariously.

Standing up, David motioned the bartender over. “A round over here.”

“What can I get for you and your crew, Colonel?”

“A round of pineapple upside-down cake shots and a shot glass with pineapple juice in it.” Taking in the quizzical stares from the rest of the officers, David explained, “That was Sheila’s favorite shot, and Colonel Amir doesn’t drink alcohol.”

Calvin rolled his eyes. “Hey, Amir. What’s this about you not drinking alcohol? You want to start now? I’ll teach you.”

“Not drinking alcohol is a tenet of my faith.”

“Oh, whatever. There’re only a few things better than blasting Leaguers. Drinking shots after blasting Leaguers, for instance,” Calvin said. “And why are you ordering some girl’s drink for us, Colonel? Get a real shot. Barkeep! A round of four horsemen!”

The barkeeper looked from David to Calvin, not quite sure whom to answer to, before David interjected, “First Sheila’s shots then the four horsemen. And a shot glass with pineapple juice in it.”

The barkeeper nodded and came back a few minutes later holding a tray filled with shot glasses. David, Ruth, Hanson, Calvin, Tural, Tinetariro, Merriweather, Hammond, and Taylor all picked up a shot, while Amir got the glass with juice.

David raised his glass high. “Let us give thanks to God for the blessings we have received. Let us give thanks to our brothers- and sisters-in-arms, and let us remember the price that is paid for the freedoms we enjoy. Those who fell were part of us. We knew them. They were brave, and they paid the ultimate price without regard for themselves. We remember tonight that they fought and died not in vain but in honor. Let us never forget our fallen comrades. We knew them and will remember them, and they will never be forgotten.”

Forcing his lips together, David seemed to be laboring to avoid showing emotion. “To our fallen!” He brought the shot glass up to his mouth and downed the drink in one gulp.

The rest of them repeated in unison, “To our fallen!” before downing their drinks as well.

Feeling the liquor burn as it went down his throat, Hanson was glad he was with his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. He was going to miss Sheila, but that was war. Reflecting on how hard it was to make and keep friends, he felt sorry for David. Losing your best friend for almost twenty years had to be pure hell.

But in time, the pain would heal. It had for Hanson as he lost friends along the way. After the announcement of the Saurians joining them, he thought they were finally on the road to victory.

* * *

MacIntosh waited patiently in the office of Richard McNamara, the programming director for the Galactic News Network, which was one of the largest holonews outfits in the Terran Coalition. Since his days as a young officer, he and McNamara had remained friends for more than twenty-five years.

The door swished open, and Richard strode through and made his way over to Andrew to greet him warmly. “Andrew! So good to see you, old friend.”

MacIntosh stood and shook McNamara’s hand with a grin. “It’s been too long.”

As they took their respective seats, McNamara continued, “What brings you by my office in uniform?”

MacIntosh laughed. “All business?”

“Always.”

“I wanted to discuss GNN’s coverage of the Lion of Judah and the events of the last twenty-four hours.”

“I see. I’m the programming director, not our news and editorial director, Andrew.”

“I realize that, but I also know you have a great deal of influence.”

“Are you here to complain about the perceived bias in our news coverage?”

MacIntosh snorted. “Perceived?”

“Okay, fine. As someone who voted for President Spencer—though don’t ever let that get out, or I’m done here—I concede that our news has a certain editorial viewpoint baked in, if you will.”

“That ambush interview with Colonel Cohen being an excellent example.”

“Oh please. He destroyed Leslie Sharp. I haven’t seen her beaten that badly on a live broadcast in years. Once he’s done blasting the League from our skies, you ought to get him to run for office. He’d be a natural.”

MacIntosh laughed. “Somehow, I don’t see David Cohen as a politician.”

“So, what’s the ask, Andrew?”

Brass tacks, it is. “We just had a major win. The people have to hear it. Morale’s been crap, and you know it. The story has to be told in an unvarnished, pro-CDF manner.”

“I don’t discount that destroying Seville’s flagship is a win, but there’s a lot of war left to fight.”

MacIntosh leaned forward. “The destruction of the Destruction…” He smirked at his bad pun. “Isn’t what we need to play up. It’s the joining of the Saurians to our cause. That’s the game changer.”

“We’ve gotten reports that perhaps the chief minister’s comments were more symbolic.”

MacIntosh shook his head violently. “They’ve already sent dozens of warships to join us, and something to the effect of eighty percent of their fleet is slated to be here in two weeks.”

McNamara raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of ships.” He sighed. “Look, I want to help you. But this is a huge ask.”

“You owe me,” MacIntosh said pointedly. “I’ve never called in that favor.”

McNamara let his head sag. “You know, I’ve wondered why, over the years, you’ve never called it in.”

“Because I’ve never had something worth using it on. This is it, Richard. We’re going to win, and we’ve got to have everyone on board.”

“You’ve got to give me something to take to the news division.”

“I figured you’d say that. I know how this game works. So how about this… I’ll give GNN and not Canaan News Network the embedded reporter slot on the Lion.”

“Seriously?”

“As long as it’s not Leslie Sharp. For God’s sake, at least get someone who acts fair and somewhat pro-military.”

Silence filled in the room for more than a couple of seconds before McNamara finally spoke. “I can sell this. But only if you’re absolutely sure it’s for real.”

“I’d stake my life on it.”

“Okay. I’m in. I’ll even give you veto power on the embed. Behind the scenes, of course.”

MacIntosh sat back, satisfied with completing the last portion of his plan to turn morale around. He’d called in every favor he had throughout the media, cultivated throughout a career that had started four years before the initial Battle of Canaan. It would all be worth it if the people of the Terran Coalition could believe in victory again. “You have a deal, Richard.” He extended his hand.

McNamara took it, and they shook.

40

David had decided to stay in his quarters rather than his on-planet apartment after leaving the pub that night. Media types would be waiting to try to get a picture of him, thanks to the enormous amount of publicity the Lion and her maiden voyage had generated. That, and he just wanted to be alone. He couldn’t shake the depression that washed over him every time he thought of Sheila’s death, even after the amazing declaration from the Saurian president. Any channel he turned on and every news post had her likeness and the story that she had saved them on a loop. And in doing so, she’d also saved the Terran Coalition from destruction. David didn’t like that his best friend’s memory was being used for war propaganda, but at least they told the truth.

He took his uniform sweater off, unbuttoned his collar, and sat down at the desk. When he turned on his tablet, he noticed he had a video message. He opened the app, and it asked him to verify his identity. As he pressed his finger on the screen, the application began to play the recording.

Sheila’s face appeared. “David,” she began. “If you’re receiving this message, well, I’m not here anymore. Oh, I know that’s melodramatic, but I had to leave you something.”

The timestamp on the message was from over six months ago, right before they had begun serving on the Rabin together.

“You see, you asked me something, and I couldn’t be fully honest with you. You asked me why I wanted to serve with you again. The truth is I missed you. I’ve missed you for so long. I remember the sadness in your eyes when I told you I was getting married to James. I had always thought you cared for me in a way that was more than friendship. I tried to encourage you to open up about it. Only later did I realize you had closed yourself off to meaningful relationships because of how hurt you were.”

Watching the video, David could barely process his emotions. He’d had feelings for Sheila that went beyond mere friendship. Having her call him on it brought it all to the forefront. It became crystal clear why her death had affected him so badly. He had hoped that one day, the war would be over, and he would be able to try to act on those feelings. But that hope was gone.

“I love you,” she said, beginning to cry a little. “You have always inspired the best in me and in those around you. You helped me get past James’s death. You also helped me believe that we could actually win one day. And I know that, right now, you’re torn up inside. You hide it. You bury it, but I know it’s there. You have to find a way to let it out, David. Your feelings will destroy you from the inside if you don’t. Keep fighting for what you believe in—for what I believed in. Don’t let the good that’s in you be destroyed by hatred. Don’t ever let it consume you. And someday, I hope we’ll see each other again on the other side. I can’t comprehend what that would be like… but I hope we do. So stop blaming yourself for my death. I know you will, but it’s not your fault. Let yourself find happiness, and for God’s sake, stop shutting yourself off from everyone around you. You can’t carry the burden of the universe on your shoulders.”

She paused. “Please try to talk to my mother. She’ll be mad, but talk to her. Make her understand that I joined and stayed in the military because I felt I had to stand up and be counted.”

Shelia shifted then continued. “I wish you and I could have grown old together. I wish we could have had a large family like you Orthodox Jews pump out,” she said with a sad laugh. “Remember me, but don’t dwell on the past. Wherever you are now, whatever you’re doing, the Terran Coalition needs you. Keep fighting. Stay true to what you believe and those ideals you insisted the rest of us follow. Some things are just worth fighting for… and sometimes they’re worth dying for.” Tears streamed down her face. “Goodbye, David. I’ll always love you.”

Stunned, David watched the video twice more before staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours and no time at all. As tears ran down his face, he thought over her words and actions on that final day—and he remembered. She’d wanted to stand down—to let Seville go, take the victory of thwarting the League plans and rescuing the Coalition POWs, and be done with it.

But I had to chase Seville down and try to destroy him and his ship. How much of that was strategy and how much hatred and revenge? If I’d listened to her, she’d be alive.

* * *

The following day, a grand ceremony was held to welcome home the prisoners of war rescued from the captured League freighter. In accordance with Coalition Defense Force POW code, POWs were to be repatriated only in order of capture. To avoid an unneeded riot, the League handlers had returned the first five thousand captured. Those selected had no idea it was a farce. They’d believed they were coming home.

Reflecting on that, Colonel Clint Waterman, the highest-ranking POW and de facto leader of the group, adjusted his uniform while looking in a mirror. Such a simple thing. But I haven’t seen one in over twenty years.

The last forty-eight hours had been an extreme shock for all of them. First they’d thought they were going to die at the hands of the League guards, then they were saved at the last moment by the Marines. Now they were preparing to disembark from shuttles and be repatriated.

Clint had been able to speak with his wife and children for a few minutes the night before, letting them know he was alive. While they were excited to see him, he realized he must be a distant memory to them. He hoped that, in time, he and the rest of his comrades in arms could reintegrate into society. But many of them had wounds, both physical and mental, that would take years to heal… if they ever did.

After making his way to the front of the transport, he stood near the departure door and waited. None of the other CDF soldiers seemed to know what to say. Some attempted small talk, but that was hard to do with a man who had been imprisoned and tortured for twenty years.

Sensing their unease, Clint tried to make light of the situation by addressing the young corporal in charge of the ramp crew. “Waiting for them to give the okay to open up the ramp, Corporal?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the young man said hesitantly.

“I remember those days. Nothing ever seemed to happen on time. I’m just glad to be home and getting some decent grub for a change. Leaguer food tastes about as drab as you’d think it would in a communist country. Bland and slimy.”

The corporal laughed. “I can’t imagine, sir, but I don’t even like eating MREs. I’m just happy to get three hots and a cot when I’m deployed.”

“I know what you mean, Corporal. I know what you mean.”

Finally, the door to the transport opened, and the ramp descended. That particular transport only had three hundred POWs on it. As thousands of family members had thronged the base, they’d had to manage how many people were on the flight line to avoid injuries. As the highest-ranking POW, Clint had the duty of walking down the ramp first. With difficulty because of old wounds, including having both of his legs broken during interrogation sessions, he slowly made his way down the ramp. As he reached the bottom, General Andrew MacIntosh, the Secretary of Defense, and President Spencer were there to greet him. Exchanging salutes with all three, he realized that not only was the flag of Terran Coalition flying high, on a nearby flagpole, but the crowds waved both CDF and Terran Coalition flags proudly while they cheered. Colonel Demood stood with another group of officers, and Clint assumed they were his crewmates from the Lion of Judah.

Clint turned toward the flag, which was waving in the wind, and raised his hand to his brow to snap off a crisp salute. He then turned to face a single camera and a microphone that had been placed at the bottom of the ramp, where he read a short statement.

“On behalf of my fellow prisoners of war and on behalf of those who paid the ultimate price, I would like to thank all the members of the Coalition Defense Force responsible for our being here today and specifically Colonel Demood and Terran Coalition Marine Corps. Without their heroic efforts, none of us would have survived. It has been an honor, both for me and those who have been held captive with me, to serve our country, even after what we endured. We will now devote ourselves to helping in any way we can to defeat the League of Sol once and for all. God bless the Terran Coalition!” As he finished, his voice cracked, and he struggled to keep the tears at bay.

President Spencer embraced him then shook his hand before Clint took his position at the side of General MacIntosh. The next POW in line walked down the ramp.

For the next two hours, men and women came down, exchanging salutes. Most were barely able to walk. After the final POW—a lady who had been captured eighteen years prior and whom Clint had gotten to know briefly—walked away, President Spencer turned to Clint.

“Colonel, let’s get you to the nearest rehab hospital. I’m sure you’ll want to be able to enjoy retirement at one hundred percent,” he said with a smile.

“Sir, I have no plans to retire. As soon as I’m medically cleared, I intend to rejoin the fight.”

Spencer appeared shocked. “Are you certain, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir. I do want to spend some time with my family, but this is my fight too. I’m not walking away from it while I still have something to offer.”

Spencer nodded and extended his hand, which Clint shook. “Good luck, Colonel. Godspeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Client responded and walked away.

He overheard Spencer comment to General MacIntosh, “Andrew, as long as men and women like that fight for our cause, there will always be hope.”

* * *

David strode into a small interview room, nestled inside the Coalition Intelligence Service’s headquarters a day after the repatriation ceremony to speak to Carl Jenner, the League’s diplomatic minister.

He had become an automated being—going from point A to point B, keeping a flat expression, and focusing on his work to keep the emotional turmoil deep inside from boiling to the surface.

CIS had tried to debrief Minister Jenner for several days, but he had refused to speak to anyone about more than his name, position, and identification number.

General MacIntosh had ordered David to make himself available to the spooks, so there he was, walking into the interview room like it was another day at the office.

It took some time to bring Minister Jenner to the interview room, which David used to think about why the man would want to talk to him. Was it the civil conversation we had over dinner? Maybe he was being honest when he said he wanted peace. Is it possible the man was hoodwinked? David at least considered that possibility. After all, no one in their right mind would consent to being the patsy for a scheme such as the one the League had tried to pull.

The door opening interrupted David’s thoughts. A security detail of two security officers led Carl in. Once he was seated, they left the room to stand guard just outside the door.

David stood on instinct. “Minister Jenner.”

“Colonel.”

David extended his hand to Jenner, who looked at it for a moment before shaking it.

Taking a seat, he stared at the League official. “I’m not sure why you asked me here, Minister.”

“I thought you might understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That I had no idea what Seville and those damn warmongers had planned.”

David sat back, pondering the man’s comments and expression. “Minister, I don’t think it matters what I believe.”

“I’m no longer a minister, not that I would want that title back again. Please, call me Carl.”

David furrowed his brow. “Very well. I still don’t understand what you hope I can accomplish.”

“You have to convince them I was sincere and that the faction I represented in the State Security Committee was sincere as well, Colonel.”

“Why? So we won’t execute you for a war crime?” David shot back, the cynicism that had settled into his soul breaking through.

Jenner grimaced. “Do you truly think that little of me, Colonel? I remind you that while you may have lost your father to this war, I lost both of my sons. I must live with that until I die. Parents shouldn’t outlive their children!”

Perhaps that was a low blow. All evidence indicated that Jenner had been simply used by the League military to get what they wanted—a knockout blow on Canaan. “I’m sorry, Carl. I don’t believe you knew what was going on. I’m not myself. This latest battle claimed the life of someone very near and dear to me.”

“I would assume that is Major Thompson.”

David nodded sadly. “Yes. I think I’m pretty lost without her.”

“That’s how I felt after my second boy was killed. Empty. Lost. I decided that this madness had to end, so I started trying to find others who felt as I did.”

“I’ll concede that’s a noble endeavor, Carl, but you can’t be naive enough to believe everything the League puts out. Sure, Earth is a utopia, but it’s a utopia because it strips resources, food, and supplies from the outer worlds in the League.”

To David’s great surprise, Jenner nodded. “You are mostly correct, Colonel. The oligarchs have, over time, replaced our socialism with their control. We need serious reforms to get back to our ideals, which are that we ensure, as a society, that all are treated equally.”

“So you’re running into the problem that some pigs are more equal than others?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow. What do pigs have to do with it?”

David chuckled. “A book from Earth’s twentieth century. We all have to read it as schoolchildren. Animal Farm, by George Orwell. It’s an allegory about the evil of socialism. You should read it. It’s a very eye-opening story pertaining to what happens when a group of people decide they know what’s best for others.”

“I would rather have a society in which we surrender some rights than have one like the Terran Coalition, where the poor beg for scraps and citizens aren’t guaranteed basic necessities.”

“There’s a job for anyone who wants it in the Terran Coalition, Carl. Unemployment across all of our planets is less than four percent. It’s true—some struggle, but that’s why we have robust charity organizations centered around our religious institutions. Judaism, for instance, operates Jewish community centers across every planet in the Terran Coalition.”

“Are only Jews welcome to obtain help there?”

“Anyone is welcome, regardless of what faith you hold, including none at all. The Terran Coalition collectively takes care of our citizens. We just do it without overwhelming government presence. The government has a safety net for the neediest. Private charity does the rest.”

“I find it hard to believe that private charity and minimal government intervention can work across a large scale.”

“Then perhaps once you’re released from custody, you’d allow me to give you a tour of some of our planets. Not just Canaan but also our border worlds, which are still quite undeveloped. So you can see how it works for yourself.”

Jenner snorted. “While I would gladly take you up on that offer, I don’t think I’m ever getting out of here, Colonel.”

“It will take a while, and you’ll be questioned repeatedly. But if you tell the truth, CIS will let you out. We’re more interested in justice than retribution.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do. It’s one of the reasons I get up every morning and put on this uniform.”

“I hope you’re right. I still want to try to bring peace between the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol. Despite our differences, we’ve got to find a way to live together. If we don’t, this war will destroy us all.”

A knock on the door signaled the end of the discussion.

“I’m afraid they’ve come to collect you, Carl.”

Jenner stood as the door swung open and the security detail strode in. “Thank you for coming, Colonel. Please pass on what I’ve asked to your superiors.”

“I will. Good luck and Godspeed.”

Jenner inclined his head and was led out by the security detail.

A few minutes later, David was debriefed on their conversation. Fumbling his way through, David just wanted to get out of there and go back to his quarters. The funerals for Sheila and those who had fallen were scheduled for the next day. He had to figure out how to get through them and carry on. The question was how he could find his way back to duty when he was so lost in the pain of his emotions.

41

Kenneth Lowe studied the small group of people in his office aboard the Lion—his second-in-command, Joshua Carter, and several team leads, including Harold Billings.

With a defeated tone, he addressed his team. “I’m afraid I was asked by Mr. Casey to tender my resignation, folks.”

They all stared at one another.

Helen Thames, the project controller, was the first to speak. “That’s not fair, sir. We all volunteered.”

“Nevertheless, I disobeyed a direct order. I know I’ve said to all of you more than once that if you find yourself in a position in which you lack confidence in your chain of command, the only recourse is to resign. I was prepared to do so prior to his request.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harold blurted out in his usual no-nonsense tone.

“Regardless, it is what it is. For several years now, we’ve done our best to run this program the right way and take care of those men and women out there fighting for us. For me, at least, that fight is over. I need all of you to refocus your efforts on keeping this ship operational. Get it upgraded and help it become the fighting machine we all know it’s capable of being. It has been an honor and a privilege to work side-by-side with you these last four years.” Kenneth turned to Joshua. “Now it’s on you to keep it going.”

Joshua shook his head. “I have no desire to continue without you, sir.”

“While that means a great deal to me, this program must go on. It’s bigger than any one of us. Even if every person assigned to this project walked out, the only people it would hurt are the crew of this ship and the citizens of the Terran Coalition, including us. In times like this, we all must sacrifice. One defense contractor’s career is a small price to pay. I’m willing to pay it, with a smile on my face.”

As he finished his statement, his tablet began to blink, indicating a vidlink. It was from Margaret Lee. This should be interesting. He shushed the room before accepting the call.

“Hello, Ms. Lee.”

“Hello, Mr. Lowe. How are you doing today?”

“I’m preparing to write my resignation letter, ma’am.”

“I see. At whose request?”

“Mr. Casey demanded it before the Lion of Judah returned to space dock, ma’am. Given that I disobeyed a direct order and I have no confidence in Mr. Casey’s ability to lead, I felt it was the best course of action.”

There was a hiccup in the video feed. When it blinked back on, Margaret was smiling. “While I understand your respect for the chain of command, Kenneth, this isn’t the military. Your actions were exceedingly risky, but you made the right call. I don’t want mindless automatons working for me. I want living, breathing, thinking people who are willing and able to make difficult judgment calls when needed. By all accounts, your actions, coupled with those of the military crew of the Lion, helped make good on a nasty situation and quite possibly saved the Terran Coalition.”

Kenneth shook his head. “Ma’am, all we did was work on some computer systems. Mr. Uzun deserves any real credit for joining the rescue mission for the POWs.”

“Modesty can sometimes be a bad thing in the corporate world, Kenneth. Let me put this a different way. You gambled and won. SSI won too. Now we’re looking at a three-billion-credit contract that won’t even be put out for bid. Consider your resignation rejected.”

Kenneth tried to interject to tell her he wouldn’t work for Stephen Casey any longer, but she spoke over him. “I’m also removing you from Stephen’s group. You will now report directly to me, and I am promoting you to director.”

Kenneth was stunned into silence for a moment. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“Do you think you could join me for a meeting tomorrow morning? I’d like to go over your new duties and how I expect you to integrate into my team.”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course. What time?”

“Ten a.m. would be fine, in my office.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will see you then.”

“Good day, Kenneth.”

“Godspeed, Ms. Lee.”

The connection cut off abruptly, and for a second, Kenneth said nothing. He still thought he should resign because of the death of Uzun. Contractors weren’t supposed to be killed in combat. They weren’t supposed to fight. The man had volunteered, and his sacrifice had saved thousands of lives, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with the fact that Uzun wouldn’t have been there if not for Kenneth asking for volunteers. Raising his head, he saw smiles and a few happy tears.

Helen was the first to speak. “Score one for common sense.”

“I didn’t see that coming,” he replied.

Joshua reached over the desk and slapped Kenneth’s arm. “Sometimes the good guys do finish first, sir.”

Kenneth cracked a smile. “I guess I’d better unpack my boxes and get back to work.”

“Yeah, then we’re going to go wet down your promotion, Mr. Director,” Kevin said.

Joshua laughed. “Let’s go with El Director. It sounds more ominous.”

“But I’m a teddy bear. That makes me sound like a tin-pot dictator from one of the neutral worlds allied with the League.”

Chuckles filled the room.

“Thank you all for standing with me. At least we get a few more months to do this right.”

“Hear! Hear!” Harold said.

“Okay, back to work, everyone. Gather the team at six p.m. Happy hour is on me.”

* * *

David paced around his day cabin, brooding. The funerals for Sheila and the rest of the fallen would occur in the afternoon, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand watch until then. Better not to be seen on the bridge like this. I don’t want to shake my crew’s confidence.

He had a prearranged video conference with General MacIntosh to discuss the Lion’s upcoming assignment and her new XO. That last part really got under his skin. Sheila wasn’t even in the ground yet, but the military had to assign a new XO. He understood, but it still made him raw with rage.

His tablet beeped, reminding David it was time to connect. He pulled up the application and entered his security code, then General MacIntosh’s face appeared a moment later.

“Thank you for joining me, Colonel.”

“Of course, sir.”

“How are you holding up?”

“As best as can be expected, sir,” David replied. He was a mass of emotion, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he could tell his commanding officer.

“We’re going to be sending you back to the front rather quickly. Is your ship ready for deployment?”

“It will be, sir. We have some personnel gaps that need to be addressed, specifically in our Marine detachment and embarked-fighter wings.” David avoided mentioned the XO position.

“Colonels Demood and Amir will be getting topped off with new personnel before you depart. It’s my intention to have the Lion perform around-the-clock shakedown activities for two weeks then join the vanguard of our drive to push the League out of our space. I’ve also been reviewing potential XOs for you.”

“It will be good to get back into the fight, sir.”

“The Joint Chiefs, SecDef, and President Spencer are unanimous in their belief that the Lion’s XO should be a Saurian.”

“I see, sir.” Great. Sheila’s position gets turned into a PR stunt.

“Look, I get that this is hard. You have to understand that the alliance with the Saurians must stick. Period. Full stop. It’s the only way we win this war in anything like a reasonable amount of time. Or for that matter, win it at all. I’m going to send you the best Saurian I can find. The guy I have in mind completed an exchange program rotation with the CDF, so he’ll at least understand how we do things. I expect you to treat him well and integrate him into your crew. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”

“Crystal, sir.”

MacIntosh leaned toward the camera. “David, I know the last few days have been hell for you. I’m not discounting that. But you’ve got to put it aside and get back to work. Try to gain some closure today. We’ve all laid too many good friends into the ground, but there’s a real chance that now we can at least honor their memory by winning this war. You’ve got to take that hope, grab it, and nurture it.”

David forced himself to reply, “Yes, sir. Working on it.”

“Good. I’ll see you this afternoon. Take care and Godspeed.”

The tablet vidlink disconnected, leaving him staring at a blank screen.

David sat and thought about MacIntosh’s words. Logically, they were on point. However, logic failed him. The deep depression that had swept over him simply couldn’t be brushed away with positive thoughts.

Forcing himself to stay on task for the rest of the morning, he worked through personnel transfers and reviewed requests for additional equipment and supplies. When his communicator reminded him it was 1200 hours, he left his office and made his way back to his cabin to prepare for the funerals later that afternoon.

* * *

David felt completely lost, gazing across a sea of polished white marble crosses, Stars of David, crescents and stars, and assorted other tombstones. Determined to honor his best friend, he stood with many other mourners, including Ruth, Hanson, Calvin, Tinetariro, Tural, Amir, and Hammond.

Sheila had been turned into a Coalition-wide hero, and her funeral was evidence of that. President Spencer was in attendance, and many of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were with him. But David couldn’t care less about how many brass attended the funeral. All he wanted to do was honor his best friend and the woman to whom he’d never allowed himself to express his love. Now that it was too late, he wished he could just talk to her one last time, tell her he loved her, and try to find some way to make it all right again.

The Coalition Defense Force has pulled out all the stops, David thought as a caisson drawn by a team of four horses came into view down the dusty road through the cemetery. A riderless horse, the symbol of a fallen leader, followed it. As the caisson drew to a stop, the honor guard approached it, exchanging salutes with the officer in charge and the chaplain. The team removed the casket with slow, military precision. The chaplain then led the way to the gravesite, followed by the honor guard, then Sheila’s family, and finally, the rest of the mourners.

Sheila’s was the third funeral David had attended that day. The first two were for crew members who’d died on the Lion and Hadi Uzun. Tears had been shed at those services, but David was beginning to shut down emotionally. He kept going back to Why? Why her? Sheila had made a decision not to sacrifice someone else. Part of him wished she had, but he also knew that the very thing that made her unwilling to sacrifice another was what he loved so much about her.

David’s thoughts continued to wander as the honor guard set the casket down next to the freshly dug grave. Sheila’s family, including her mother, her father, and her brother, was seated first. David was one of the last to sit after the rest of the Lion’s senior staff had taken their seats on the back row.

The honor guard moved off to the side and adjusted to parade rest, while the chaplain stepped up and spoke to the mourners.

“We come here today to mourn the passing of a young woman full of life. Not just lost to a random act of chance but a life snuffed out by an all-consuming war,” the chaplain began.

“I know, looking around at the people here today, I’m not the only one who asks why. I’m not the only one who looks up at the sky and asks over and over why God allows the horrible things that happen to continue. The pain and anguish that Sheila’s family, friends, and colleagues are enduring are altogether too common. Almost no one in our land hasn’t been touched by this war and endured loss from it.

“In the book of Job, when Job finds out that his children have died, he stands up and tears his robe in grief, then he shaves his head and falls to the ground before God. Job said that the Lord gave me everything I had, and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord.”

The chaplain gazed over the crowd. “Many times, we simply move on from our grief, lacking the time to process it, and we make ourselves busy so that we forget. But Job isn’t telling us to do that. Indeed, most of the book of Job is his mourning and challenging God as to that all-important question… why.”

Why is the question. Where is the justice in this? Why does God allow so many horrible things to happen? He claims to be just and that if His people, who are called by His name, will humble themselves and pray, He will deliver them. Why hasn’t that happened?

“Our grief is something we must process and endure. Some of us will move on more quickly than others. Some will grieve for a long time. Those of us who finish our mourning before the rest must not grow impatient with those who don’t. Grief affects us all in different ways. Today, we need to remember that Major Sheila Thompson was many things: a daughter, a warrior, a friend. She modeled the things that are the best in us. And our entire world is a little bit dimmer now that she’s gone.

“Most of you here today have served, and you all understand the idea of chain of command. Those of us who have been in the military know that if we fail to follow orders, communication will break down, battles will dissolve into chaos, and the end result will be more lives lost. The same is true of believers. If we do not follow the orders found in the Bible, so, too, will our lives descend into chaos, and instead of lives, our souls will be lost. We must remain faithful and dedicated to the cause of Jesus Christ and what is just.

“I charge you all that as you leave this place today, remember the sacrifice of Sheila Thompson. Remember the sacrifice of all those who have gone before and those who will undoubtedly follow. Some of you here may yet make that ultimate sacrifice. Know that as we stand with one voice, with one spirit, and with one mind, we are part of something larger than us. Our suffering is for those we protect, and it is something that I and I believe many of those who serve with me take pride in doing. Not the kind of pride that says, ‘Look at me. I did this.’ But the pride that comes from being a part of something bigger and better than yourself. Sheila Thompson had that pride, and she gave freely of herself so that others might live. She should serve as an inspiration to us all.

“Let us pray.” As heads bowed, the chaplain continued, “Eternal Father, strong to save, we ask You to accept the soul of Sheila Thompson into Your loving care. We ask You to minister to her family and friends, and we ask You to heal them and heal our nation. In Your name we pray. Amen.”

David bowed his head out of respect but was lost in his own thoughts. It’s so easy to just chalk it all up to God’s will. But why does He let this continue to happen?

The honor guard stepped up to the casket, and the officer in charge requested that the mourners stand for rendering of honors. David stood and took a parade rest stance.

The sergeant that led the honor guard commanded, “Present… arms!”

Polished antique rifles snapped up to the port arms position, resting against the guards’ shoulders.

“Aim!” the sergeant shouted, and moving as one, the honor guard pointed their rifles at the sky.

“Fire!”

A volley rang out, followed by another, then a third.

An unseen bugler played the notes to “Taps,” and as Sheila’s family sat, the honor guard folded the flag that had been draped over her casket.

It was all too much for David. Tears streamed down his face. He nearly broke into sobs but managed to control himself.

As the soldiers completed folding the flag into its neat little triangle, the sergeant, with slow and precise movements, presented it to the officer in charge of the ceremony. With deliberate steps, he walked to stand directly in front of Sheila’s mother before leaning down and presenting her with the flag. David could hear her crying as she took it from him.

The honor guard marched away along with the caisson and the riderless horse. For a few minutes afterward, the chaplain consoled Sheila’s parents, especially her mother, who was clearly in extreme grief. David hung back with the rest of the Lion’s command staff.

With his ministering complete, the chaplain announced that the service was finished. The dignitaries and friends of the family began to walk away from the gravesite.

David looked at Sheila’s mother and realized he would rather go into battle without a weapon than face her. But in Sheila’s recording, she had implored him to talk to her mother, so he steeled himself.

Forcing his shoulders back, David walked with purpose up to the family and addressed them. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

“You must be David,” Sheila’s mother replied.

“Yes, ma’am. David Cohen.”

“Sheila said a lot about you over the years.”

David’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

“I never wanted her to go down this path. I didn’t want her to spend a lifetime in the military.”

“I believe Sheila, if she were here, would tell you that she wanted to make a difference and that service to the CDF was how she made that difference.”

“Did she make a difference? Did her death matter? Was it worth it?” The last few words were asked at a higher pitch, and David could sense the anger behind them.

David wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. He didn’t quite believe Sheila’s death was worth it, but that was colored by how raw the loss of her was. In a dark corner of his heart, a part of him wished someone else had made the sacrifice that day.

“Sheila made a difference every day, ma’am,” he said finally. “I’ve seen few people with more dedication to the cause. She was my best friend. Was her death worth it? Did it matter? Yes, it mattered. She saved the ship. She saved us all. Do I wish every minute that she wasn’t the one who’d done it? Yes. But she did what she believed was right. That’s one of the things I loved about her.”

“You’re alive because of her?”

“Yes,” David replied.

Sheila’s mother closed her eyes for a moment. “Then make sure you do something with her gift. Because it came at a very high cost.” Crying, she turned away.

David stood there until Ruth and the rest of the senior staff got his attention and helped him away from the gravesite. Just wanting to be alone, he took his leave of them and began to walk down the dusty path back toward civilization.

* * *

Calvin walked up the driveway to his home, looking up at the Terran Coalition flag raised high on the flagpole in the yard. He reflected on how much he loved the flag and the ceremonies around it. He had always planned to enlist his children, once he had some, to assist him in raising and lowering the flag each day. Until then, he kept it lit up.

He had been worried the entire trip home about what his wife would have to say to him, but it turned out he shouldn’t have been. Before he was halfway up the driveway, the front door flew open, and Jessica ran out with tears of joy in her eyes. He quickened his pace to meet her in the middle and embraced her while they kissed each other passionately.

“I’m sorry for what I said, baby,” she said softly. “I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.”

Calvin stared into her eyes. “Unless you just have something for a man in uniform...”

She laughed at his lame attempt at humor.

“I’ve got to ask you what changed. Because you were pretty upset with me.”

“I’ve seen interview after interview on the holonets with the families of the POWs your team rescued. Now I know why you had to be there. God wanted you in that place so that you could save them.”

“It wasn’t me, baby. It was all of us.”

“You led them. You gave them confidence and courage. I’ve seen you do it with all these kids you’ve been training.”

“So you’re okay with me staying in?”

“I’m not happy about it, but I see now it’s where you’re supposed to be. It’s your calling, and I’ll be okay. I had my eggs frozen for a reason, and we can have a child whenever you’re ready. So, you see this through, then we can have our family.”

Calvin thought about how selfless she was being, and it made him love her all the more. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. But for now, how about you let me show you how much I missed you?”

His wife kissed him playfully and called back to him as she darted toward the house, “If you can catch me!”

42

David’s quarters were dark as he lay in bed, considering the events of the day. Laying Sheila to rest with the other fallen was simply too much to process. At the same time, planning to reenter combat affected him in ways he hadn’t expected or could even understand. He was a mere automaton plodding along. His soul was crushed, and he felt trapped in the depths of despair and hopelessness. After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell into a restless sleep.

Most nights, he had a dream or two that he might remember for a moment when he awoke, and occasionally, he remembered something vividly but never one like this. It was almost as if he were conscious when he was transported to a field of green grass as far as the eye could see. The sun shone down on him as a gentle breeze blew. Looking out across the field, David felt peace he couldn’t explain flow over him like a river. Suddenly, he heard Sheila’s voice.

“David, I’ve missed you,” she said, as clearly as if she were standing beside him on the ship.

Turning to his right, he saw Sheila standing beside him in a white sundress. Stunned, he managed to get out, “But… you’re gone.”

“My body is dead, but my soul isn’t. I’m still here with you.”

David raised an eyebrow. “This is all in my head. I must be having some whale of a dream.”

“No, not a dream. Something else. Something you needed.”

David took her hand and squeezed it. It felt firm, and moreover, it felt real. Of course it feels real. It’s a construct of my mind. “And what does my subconscious think I need?”

“God thought you needed encouragement,” she replied without a trace of hesitation or irony.

“HaShem? You’re telling me you met him?”

Sheila laughed softly. “Yes. I met all three of them. David, you’re so broken right now.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “You have to get past your grief in order to live.”

“I don’t know how to. I’m lost, and I know my actions and orders caused you to die,” David admitted, looking down at her hands. “I never acknowledged the feelings I had for you. When I got the recording you left for me, it forced me to confront my reality. I know you left it to communicate your feelings to me and encourage me, but it broke my heart to the core.”

Sheila put her other hand under his chin and gently lifted his eyes to hers. “I never wanted that. I loved you, David. I still do. It’s just different now. I’m different. I’m nowhere, but I’m everywhere at the same time. It’s truly wondrous.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Jews believe in heaven, right?”

“Yes, though not quite in the same way Christians do.”

“Well, I can only explain it this way: When my body died in space, one moment, I closed my eyes and hoped there was something more. The next moment, I opened them, and I was in this sea of white light. God was there. He took me into this place. It’s unlike anything I can describe with words. You have to experience it to understand it.”

“Well, since every human dies, I’ll get to experience it someday, perhaps,” David said softly.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Sheila, when I look at my hands, I see blood. Blood of thousands of people I’ve killed through direct action, through orders, and through inaction. I close my eyes, and I see the innocents I know I’ve killed over the last seventeen years looking at me. I can’t escape them. I’m consumed by hatred for the League but most of all for what I’ve become… a damn killing machine!” By the end, David was sobbing.

“God doesn’t blame you for that,” she said. “He loves you. He loves all of us. Even the League.”

David’s face clouded over. “Why would He love the League? They try to kill anyone who worships his name. They’ve murdered billions of people!”

“Because God wants everyone to repent and serve Him, even Admiral Seville,” she said earnestly.

“Seville’s the worst of them all!” David nearly shouted. “The man has single-handedly helped kill over one hundred million men, women, and children. He belongs in Hell, if it exists.” As Jews didn’t believe in the concept of Hell as a Christian did, David had made a strong point to her.

“That’s not for you to decide, David,” Sheila said sadly. “You’ve got to let this go. It’s destroying you. Hating the League, hating Seville—that does nothing but eat you up inside and bring you farther apart from God. God is love, David. Hate is evil.”

David angrily tore his hand out of hers. “The Sheila I know wouldn’t lecture me on forgiving Seville,” he said coldly.

“I would and have,” Sheila responded evenly as she walked around to get in his line of sight. “David, if you can’t forgive Seville, that’s okay. Ask God to help you. But if you hold on to it, you will become just like him. The pain and loss you feel, it’s all a symptom of a larger problem. Let go of the hate. God is there. He’s a still, small voice. Don’t shout him down. Let him help you.”

“Evil must be opposed. You used to tell me that. It’s our job to stop evil.”

“It is our job to stop evil where we can, but it’s also our job to stop evil from entering our hearts. Do you think God is out here by himself? For good to exist, evil must exist. That means that God has an opposing force. I call it Satan. Satan will do anything to tempt us and turn us away from Him.”

“Jews don’t believe in Satan.”

“That’s nice,” Sheila said as she scrunched her nose. “Somebody said the best trick Satan ever pulled was convincing people he didn’t exist. I think that’s true.”

David turned his head away. “I couldn’t save you, Sheila, or any of them. I don’t know how to live with that. I failed. Seventy-eight men and women under my command were killed because of my orders back on the Rabin. It should’ve been me. Not you. Not them. Me.”

Sheila stepped up and grabbed both of his arms. “Stop it, David Cohen!” she shouted as she shook him. “You didn’t fail. You did the best you could. God asks no more of you than that, and so do your fellow soldiers. Stop blaming yourself.”

David’s shoulders sagged as he slumped forward. “I should just accept it?”

“You ask God to give you the ability to accept the things you cannot change, the courage to do the things you can, and the wisdom to tell the difference, and you never stop doing your best.”

For several seconds, David sat in silence. All the shame, guilt, and helplessness he felt boiled to the surface as he fell to his knees, sobbing as he looked up at the sky. Sheila knelt beside him and held him tightly.

“It’s okay, David. Let it out,” she coaxed him.

As David sat and sobbed and worked to compose himself, Sheila held him.

“I’m sorry, Sheila. I don’t want anyone to know what’s really going on inside me.”

“I know, and that’s no way to go through life. Let me show you something.” She took his hand, and after a moment, they were in a different place. They flew over fields of humans—tens of thousands of them.

“Do you see those people, David?”

“Who are they?” he asked, marveling at how they had traveled.

“They’re the ones you’ve saved throughout your life. And not only them but also the children they had and the families you saved. You’ve touched hundreds of thousands of lives.”

In another moment, they were back in the field, sitting together.

“That’s a neat trick,” David said, cracking a small smile.

“Yeah, it’s interesting.”

“Why are you showing me all of this?”

“Because you have miles to go, David Cohen. Because God needs you. You have a purpose in His plan. You have to answer the call,” she said, caressing his hands.

“Somebody else can answer that call. I’ve fought the good fight.”

“If you abandon your post, why would anyone else stand and fight? You’re the hero of Canaan. The man who defeated Seville. If you quit now, you will doom us all to darkness for ten generations. You don’t get to quit, David. You’ve never quit in your life. The David Cohen I loved never quits.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I gave my life for the cause. All you have to do is live for the cause.”

“I don’t know how to keep going, Sheila.”

“One day at a time. One step at a time.”

“That sounds a bit trite.”

“I won’t deny it. But it’s still true. It’s how I kept going. Now it’s your turn. I’ll be here, watching out for you. God is with you. He’s your protector. He will support you, and He will fight for all of us as long as we humble ourselves and call on His name.”

David looked down, fighting through waves of emotion. At the core of his soul, he knew she was right. They had a fight to wage, not just the Terran Coalition against the League of Sol, but good versus evil. Maybe she was right and there was a higher power that supported evil and opposed God. But that wasn’t something David could figure out right then.

“It’s going to take me a while to put aside the hate for the League and Seville.”

“But you’re going to try, aren’t you?”

“I am, but I’m going to give it to HaShem. Because He can do immeasurably more than I ever could,” David said with a smile.

Sheila stood and helped David up. “And that is the David Cohen I know and love.”

“As for the rest, I’ll keep fighting until I can fight no more.”

“I’ll be here when you arrive someday,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Knowing my luck, I’ll still be single.”

Sheila laughed. “I very much hope that’s not the case. You deserve to be loved while you’re in this universe. Besides, you cook a good steak. Men who can cook are a hot commodity.”

David joined her in laughing then smiled sadly. “I miss you so much.”

After a moment, Sheila leaned in and kissed him passionately. “I miss you, too, David. Until we meet again someday. I love you.”

David woke up with a start. He jerked up so quickly that he nearly hit his head. Sitting there for a few minutes, he remembered every detail of the dream. Or was it something more? He couldn’t be sure. It felt so real, and now it’s like a memory of something that actually happened.

He lay back down, but he didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Going over and savoring every moment with Sheila, he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off him and that something very dark was gone from his heart. Realizing that he finally had some measure of peace, he prayed repeatedly that God would forgive him and bless his soul. Resolving to find a way to exorcise the hate from his soul, he spent the rest of the night praying and thinking about how to grow into the man Sheila told him he could be.

* * *

Following his customary morning ritual, David resolved to visit Dr. Tural to try to make sense of what he’d experienced the night before. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but upon reflection, he was confident it was something more than simply a dream.

Tugging his duty sweater down, David strode into the medical bay, which was empty at 0600. Walking through the quiet facility, he made his way to Dr. Tural’s office to find the doctor behind his desk. He knocked on the open hatch frame to announce himself. “Good morning, Doctor. May I come in?”

Tural stood. “Of course, Colonel. How may I help you today?”

David stepped into the room and closed the hatch behind him. “I need to discuss something with you, Doctor. But before I do, I need your word that this will not go into my medical record.”

Tural raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I can make a blanket promise like that, Colonel, if whatever you share with me impacts your ability to command this ship.”

“I’m certain you’ve noticed my… cold emotional state the last few days.”

“I’d be lying to you if I said I hadn’t, Colonel. You’ve absorbed a great deal of trauma. I would strongly recommend you visit a counselor.”

David pursed his lips. “Doctor, I had an experience last night. One that I can’t explain. I was hoping you could help me understand it.”

“If I can, I will. What happened?”

For the next ten minutes, David explained the vision to Tural. “In conclusion, Doctor, I’ve never had a dream like that in my life. It was like I was really there, like it actually happened.”

Tural had worn a questioning yet inscrutable expression during David’s entire explanation, rarely interrupting. “Colonel, if I may… I’m not sure what use I can be to you. While the Quran quite clearly states that dreams can be authentic messages from Allah, I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I was hoping you could run some tests on my brain and tell me if I’m okay, Doctor.”

“I can run a baseline scan of your brain activity, but I’m not sure what I’d be looking for,”

“Let’s just make sure it’s in good working order, then,” David replied with a smile.

Tural stood and gestured to the door. “Very well. Let’s get you onto an examination bed.”

After he led David over, it took a few minutes for the scan to be completed. David had to sit completely still and wait for the laser to pass back and forth over his head several times.

Once it was over, they returned to Tural’s office. Tural pulled the scan images up on his personal tablet and reviewed them.

“I will admit these results are interesting, Colonel.” He turned the tablet around. Pointing to a specific section, he continued, “Do you see this here? That’s your hippocampus or the portion of the brain that governs much of the memory functions.”

David peered at the image, but he had no idea what he was looking at. “You must forgive me, Doctor. Why would that image be interesting to you?”

“Well, see how it’s lighting up? That indicates that you’ve made many new memories. That’s not something I would expect to see after you were asleep most of the night, having a dream.”

David furrowed his brow. “Does that mean you see some evidence that it wasn’t just a dream?”

Tural shook his head. “Colonel, I can’t say there’s irrefutable scientific evidence that you had what amounts to an out-of-body spiritual experience.” He spread his hands. “Is the fact that you seem to have made a lot of memories in the last few hours interesting? Yes. Does it point to something possibly happening with you that can’t be readily explained based on what you’ve told me? Yes. Ultimately, only you will be able to decide what happened. You’ll have to accept it on faith or not at all.”

David nodded and sat silently. “What do you think happened?”

“From the perspective of my role as the chief medical officer on this ship, Colonel… nothing happened,” Tural replied. “But if I were to step back and simply evaluate what you’ve told me against the available evidence and combined with my faith in Allah, I believe something happened to you. Was it a dream? Something more? I don’t know. If we accept that God speaks to us, who is to say He didn’t speak to you last night? Perhaps your subconscious mind gave you a much-needed emotional boost. The end result is the same. You have to decide for yourself as to your interpretation of it.”

David sat back. “Thank you, Doctor.” He began to rise.

“I see no reason for this to go into your medical record, Colonel.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Anytime, Colonel. Godspeed.”

* * *

Deciding he needed some quiet time with God, David made his way to the shul. He donned his yarmulke and his tallit gadol before entering.

“Colonel, it’s been a few days. Did you forget about Shabbat?” Rabbi Kravitz asked, mirth in his voice.

David shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rabbi. The last couple of days have been… challenging for me.” As he spoke, he walked over to a pew and sat down.

Kravitz followed and sat with him. “In such times, you must turn to God.”

“I realize in times such as these, Rabbi… I’m not a great Jew.”

Kravitz laughed. “And who is a great Jew? Certainly not me.”

“Rabbi, when Sheila was killed…”

“You wondered where God was?”

David nodded and stared at his hands. “Yes.”

“What about now?”

David lifted his head and peered directly into Kravitz’s eyes. “I think Sheila came to me in a dream or a vision last night. And I think God let her.”

A questioning expression washed over Kravitz’s face. “That’s quite a feat, Colonel.”

“I realize it sounds crazy. I have no evidence to support that idea, except Dr. Tural found I have large amounts of new memories in my hippocampus.”

“Does Dr. Tural believe you had a vision?”

“Medically speaking? No. There is no proof either way. He told me I have to accept it on faith or not at all.”

Kravitz nodded. “What happened in your dream?”

David explained, sharing almost all the details, except for their declarations of love. “It was more real than any dream I’ve ever had. It was like I was there.”

“God certainly has visited us in dreams since the beginning of our history. Do you believe it was a vision from God, David?”

“Yes.”

“Then I believe it was as well. A man like you isn’t taken to flights of fancy. I think a more important question is ‘What are you going to do with it?’”

“Fight the good fight. Without hate in my heart.”

Kravitz put his arm around David’s shoulders. “Would you allow me to pray with you, David?”

David nodded.

“Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who bestows good things upon the unworthy and has bestowed upon me every goodness.”

David immediately recognized the prayer for surviving danger. He spoke the traditional reply. “Amen. He who has bestowed upon you every goodness, may He continue to bestow upon you every goodness. Selah.”

“Lord, our God, King of the Universe, bless this man,” Kravitz continued. “Grant him courage and wisdom, and give him good counsel. Show him the path, and do not allow him to venture from it. Amen.”

“Amen,” David said. “Thank you, Rabbi.”

“I will leave you to your prayers and meditation.” Kravitz stood.

David inclined his head, and the rabbi walked off to comfort another member of the congregation.

After bowing his head, David prayed for the next fifteen minutes then closed with the prayer that was traditional to him: God, if it is your will, spare the lives of my crew and allow them to return safely to their families. After finishing, he stood and walked out of the shul, removing his prayer shawl and yarmulke.

Emerging from the shul and walking down the ship’s passageway back toward his office, David reflected on his feelings. Moving from near emotional destruction twenty-four hours ago to being back to something of his former self seemed nothing short of miraculous. Everything felt right again. While part of him was still sad, he wasn’t broken any longer. Smiling, he quickened his step. He had so much to do, and it was time to do it.

* * *

David, Tinetariro, Ruth, and a robust honor guard consisting of both Marines and enlisted crew members from the Lion stood in an airlock on the starboard side of the ship. He’d received a notification thirty minutes prior that both President Spencer and Chief Minister Sherazi would be touring the Lion.

As Ruth adjusted her dress uniform, she looked over at David. “Sir, why’d they only give us thirty minutes’ notice? Trying to get everyone into the proper uniforms and at the airlock is practically impossible in that amount of time.”

David smirked. “Well, I could say that they just want to see if we could do it… but I suspect the real reason is security. Having the two heads of state of the Canaan Alliance in one place is a great risk.”

“We’re at Canaan’s main space station. This is literally the most secure location in Terran Coalition space.”

“Perhaps it is, Lieutenant. But no one is leaving anything to chance after the events of the last week.”

Ruth peered at him. David could tell she was trying to figure out what had changed, as his whole attitude was different. His shoulders were squared, he was smiling, and he didn’t look like a storm cloud.

His personal tablet vibrated, and he pulled it from his uniform and stared at the screen. “Okay, look alive, ladies and gents. They’ll be here momentarily.”

Tinetariro performed a final inspection of the enlisted crew’s uniforms. David watched her expertly fix several errors with the ease that only came from thirty years in the service. While some might question why that was so important to her, his brief interactions with the master chief so far had told him it was simply a matter of respect, and if the president of the Terran Coalition was going to walk aboard their vessel, she would make sure it was perfect.

Another vibration came from his personal communicator with an alert that the president, the chief minister, and their respective entourage were entering the air lock.

“Master Chief, here they come,” he announced.

The security detail for both heads of state strode through the open hatch, followed closely by President Spencer and Chief Minister Sherazi.

“Attention on deck!” David announced with the practiced voice of command.

Immediately, the honor guard and Ruth snapped to attention. Tinetariro trilled her bosun’s pipe, welcoming the dignitaries.

“Permission to come aboard, Colonel?” President Spencer asked.

“Granted, sir.” David replied.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing this ship fully operational for some time, Colonel Cohen. That it has performed so well is beyond our wildest hopes and dreams.”

David pursed his lips. “Regardless of the tragedy of the last few days, sir, we have much to be thankful for. I consider this vessel to be a marvel, both in its technology and in the ability of its crew. No one could ask for a better team.”

Spencer smiled. “Glad to hear it, Colonel. Have you met Chief Minister Sherazi?”

Sherazi took a step forward and extended his hand to David. “Greetings, Colonel.”

David shook it firmly. “Chief Minister, welcome aboard.”

General MacIntosh and another Saurian male, who wore a CDF uniform, walked through the open hatch, followed by the last members of the security detail.

At the sight of MacIntosh, David stiffened once more. “General.”

“At ease, everyone,” MacIntosh ordered. “Colonel Cohen. Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted, sir.”

“Please allow me to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Talgat Aibek, the first member of the Coalition Defense Force and Royal Saurian Navy officer exchange program that our governments agreed to this morning.”

David took a step forward and extended his hand to Aibek, who shook it.

Like all Saurians, Aibek was taller than an average human. The scales atop his head were particularly colorful. He appeared to have robust and well-defined muscles, and an array of campaign ribbons David did not recognize was displayed on his uniform.

“Welcome aboard, Colonel.” As he continued to process Aibek, he realized that the XO’s position on the Lion was technically a billet for a Lieutenant Colonel. Is this my new XO? Bile rose in his throat, and Too soon ran through his head.

MacIntosh cleared his throat. “Let’s begin the tour, Colonel Cohen.”

“Yes, sir,” David said crisply. He turned to Tinetariro. “Master Chief, the honor guard is dismissed.”

“Yes, sir. Company… dismissed!” Tinetariro ordered.

The group of crew members melted away, leaving David and Ruth to conduct the tour. Over the next couple of hours, they led them through the Lion. Starting with the massive engineering space, David felt impressed by the questions President Spencer asked about the antimatter reactor. They also toured the hangar bay and the bridge.

Ending up in the wardroom, David, MacIntosh, Aibek, and the two heads of state sat down. The security details took up positions outside, save for a single agent from each government.

After pleasantries and chitchat had been dispensed with, MacIntosh got down to business. “As I’m sure everyone here is acutely aware, our new alliance brings with it many logistical concerns. Not the least of which is how we tightly integrate two separate militaries.”

“Not unlike the issues the Terran Coalition had fully integrating most nation-state militaries into the Coalition Defense Force at the outbreak of hostilities with the League,” David said.

“Exactly, Colonel. Only this is harder because we’re two separate species who do things very differently.”

President Spencer gestured between David and Aibek. “The reason you two are here, Colonel Cohen and Colonel Aibek… is we want you to set the standard for integration between the Terran Coalition and the Saurian Empire. To help set that standard, Colonel Aibek is being assigned as the XO for the Lion of Judah.”

David nodded. “Yes, sir.” Well, I was right about that part, at least. Hope this guy is a good officer who will integrate well into the crew and work seamlessly with me.

MacIntosh stared at David and Aibek, seeming to bore into David’s mind. “I want to be perfectly clear here. This has to work—for the sake of both our nations. We’re going to have one chance and one chance only to push the League back before they send their own reinforcements. The only thing in our favor right now is that our supply lines are far shorter than theirs. As the first Saurian serving on a CDF capital ship, Colonel Aibek, it’s your duty to show the way.”

Aibek replied with a crisp “Yes, sir.”

Sherazi leaned forward. “If the two of you can work effectively together, it will show all the others it can be done. We are all counting on you.”

David and Aibek exchanged glances before David spoke. “Sirs, I think I speak for myself and for Colonel Aibek when I say that we’re going to make this work. The League is an evil that needs to be pushed back and defeated. With our combined strength, that goal is within reach. It will not be derailed because of personality conflicts.” He wondered if he’d been too forward. “I hope that wasn’t too direct, Colonel.”

“Not at all, Colonel. I’m certain I can adjust to your command style, whatever it may be. And if we have any issues… I would welcome a sparring match to clear the air in any human martial art form you would care to choose.”

David wasn’t sure what to make of his statement.

Aibek, on seeing his reaction, tried to clear up the confusion. “I jest, Colonel.”

David cracked a smile. “Noted.”

MacIntosh looked somewhat amused himself. “That settles it, then. We’re going to make this work. Then we’re going to kick the League’s ass back to Earth and take out those communist bastards once and for all.”

“Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind, despite the language, Andrew,” President Spencer said, smiling. “Andrew, Chief Minister, any final thoughts?”

Sherazi shook his head. “None. I have confidence the right officers are assigned to this ship.”

President Spencer stood, quickly followed by everyone else. The meeting was close to being adjourned. “Colonel, I wish you good luck and Godspeed. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” David replied. “Perhaps Colonel Aibek could stay behind. I’d be happy to show him around some other areas of the ship, like the mess.”

“Excellent idea, Colonel. I’ll show our guests back to the shuttle. Godspeed to you both,” MacIntosh said.

After the two heads of state and General MacIntosh had left, David turned to Aibek. “I realize we don’t know each other well. To summarize how I do things… I am tough but fair. I want the best of this crew and this ship, and most of all, I want to defeat the League so that someday, perhaps we won’t have to get up every morning and kill our fellow man.”

Aibek seemed lost in thought before responding to David. “That is a burden I do not relish, Colonel Cohen. I hope my presence here can be positive, and I will strive to the best of my ability to serve well as your executive officer.”

David resolved to take Aibek at his word. After all, MacIntosh wouldn’t have assigned him if he had any question about the Saurian’s abilities or effectiveness. “I have no doubt of that, Colonel. Now, if you’d follow me, let me show you some things about this ship that aren’t on the main tour.”

Aibek smiled and walked around the table. “Lead on, sir.”

* * *

Sometime later, President Spencer called MacIntosh into his private office in the shuttle, which was designated Coalition Defense Force One while Spencer was aboard. It was outfitted with the latest defensive technology that centered around stealth. The craft also carried enough communications and command and control gear to run the war if required.

MacIntosh strode through the door and brought himself to attention before the desk. “General MacIntosh reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Andrew, when are you going to relax with that?” Spencer asked, smiling. “Or have you forgotten when we were both young captains serving together?”

“Mr. President, it’s a matter of habit. Respect for the office. Even if we are old friends.”

“I understand.” Spencer stood up and walked around the desk, gesturing at the two chairs in front. “Please, have a seat.”

MacIntosh sat in the chair farthest from Spencer, and Spencer slid into the other.

“What’s on your mind, sir?” MacIntosh asked.

“I wanted to ask you about our young Colonel Cohen. I’ve heard some disturbing reports regarding his mental stability.”

MacIntosh looked away. “I can’t begin to know how he or many other soldiers continue to function in this war, sir. He seemed fine to me today.”

“I’ll agree that today he seemed fine, but he was not fine earlier this week.”

“You realize that probably every member of the space corps who’s seen battle has some form of PTSD, sir?”

Spencer leaned back in the chair. “Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. Usually after failing once again to save one of my comrades from the Red Tails.”

“If it makes you feel any better, sir, so do I.” MacIntosh sucked in a breath. “We all do.”

“God, it was so long ago, but it feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

MacIntosh nodded. “Where did the years go, I wonder sometimes.”

“Andrew, while I sympathize with Cohen’s predicament, this is the biggest, best ship in our fleet. We can’t afford any screw-ups. Is he battle ready?”

The discussion forced MacIntosh to confront a reality he didn’t want to face. David Cohen was the best man for the job. He was sure of it. His emotional state was another question. “I’m not sure, sir.”

“I want you to figure that out. Talk to him. If he is, then fine. God knows that young man has earned his stripes, and by any measure, he’s a hero. I know what those look like, because I served with a carrier full of them. I can think of no one else I’d rather have leading us into battle with that wondrous new ship. But if he’s not emotionally stable, then we’re going to have to quietly make sure he gets the help he needs and put another CO in place. Quickly. An unstable man will squander all our hard-won gains.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Andrew, please know that’s the last thing I want.”

MacIntosh nodded. “Yes, sir. I don’t think we can win without Colonel Cohen commanding the Lion of Judah. What that ship did to Seville and the Destruction will inspire fear in the League, and that fear will be worth more than fifty starships as reinforcements.”

“You put a lot of stock in morale.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve seen men and women accomplish things that no flesh-and-blood human had any right to, simply because they had belief in their cause and that they could do what needed to be done. That kind of esprit de corps comes from good leadership, strong morale, and an unshakeable sense of duty.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the effect of morale. We certainly had it back on the Zvika Greengold. Our pilots thought they could beat anything.”

MacIntosh snickered. “You mean when we pulled off attacking Sol, even with the ship’s reactor half-destroyed?” He shook his head. “That was all the convincing I needed that God existed. None of us should’ve gotten out of that mission alive.”

“Funny you put it like that.” Spencer stared into the void through a portal. “That was when I started down the path to believing in God too.” He sucked in a breath. “For all our sakes, I hope Colonel Cohen is ready for the task in front of him. Would you care to pray with me about this?”

MacIntosh nodded and bowed his head. While he hadn’t said it, sometimes he wasn’t sure God bothered to listen anymore. With all the strife, bloodshed, and horror in the universe that they contended with daily, it was easy to believe that God no longer controlled what happened. He hoped he was wrong as he closed his eyes and waited for Spencer to pray.

43

David was ordered to report to General MacIntosh’s office at 0800 for a meeting. The suddenness of the order, and what David knew had been erratic, emotional behavior on his part the last few days, had him questioning what the subject matter would be. Since his dream, he had begun to resolve his emotions and focus on the fight. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but he was looking forward to it.

After greeting Major Roberts, David was shown back to the familiar office of General MacIntosh. “Colonel David Cohen reporting as ordered, sir,” he said, bracing to attention.

MacIntosh looked up from his tablet. “Take a seat, Colonel.”

As David sat, MacIntosh put his tablet aside and stared directly into his eyes. “I’ll cut to the chase, Colonel. I need to know your head is in the game.”

David returned the stare. “It is, sir. I’m ready to go.”

MacIntosh leaned back. “Really? Did that start before or after you nearly assaulted an enlisted man for following procedures regarding repatriation of our war dead?”

David winced. I guess somebody reported that. “Sir, I wanted the contractors who perished to be treated with honor and respect. They earned it. If not for them, I wouldn’t be here, nor would my ship.”

“I see. You were also observed crying uncontrollably at Major Thompson’s funeral.”

David continued to stare straight ahead. “With respect, sir, I lost my best friend. I believe that an emotional reaction was warranted.”

MacIntosh frowned. “I didn’t say it wasn’t, Colonel. But considering these and other reports… I have reservations as to whether you’re in the right state of mind to get back into the war.”

“I’ve been able to put most of it behind me the last few days, sir.”

“Have you seen a counselor?”

“No, sir.”

“Then how have you been able to put it behind you in a couple of days?”

“Sir, that is a personal matter,” David said.

“Not good enough, Colonel. If you want back into space without a full mental health workup, I want details.”

David gulped and sighed. “Very well, sir.” How do I explain this without sounding insane? “Several nights ago, I had a dream that was vividly real. It felt like something that actually happened as opposed to simply being a dream.”

As David spoke, MacIntosh stared at him with an inscrutable expression.

“In it, I had a long conversation with Sheila. She told me why she did what she did, and she assured me that there was a better place after all this.” He decided to leave out the part about her leaving the video for him or their discussions regarding their love for each other.

“When I woke up the next morning, it was as if something dark had been lifted off me. I visited Dr. Tural to discuss the matter with him.”

MacIntosh’s right eyebrow shot up. “And?”

“He told me that he found evidence in a scan of my brain that showed increased mental activity consistent with a fresh memory, but there was no scientific evidence that was conclusive either way.”

“An interesting story, Colonel. What do you think happened?”

“I think that somehow, some way, Sheila reached out to me from what we think of as heaven. I realize that sounds a bit insane, sir. But I think she wanted me to get my head screwed back on straight. I also… I also think that maybe God led her to do it.” He waited for a response, unsure of his fate.

“I see, Colonel,” MacIntosh replied then stood and walked around his desk to sit in the chair next to David. “I don’t mention my faith too much. I’m a practicing Catholic.” He cracked a smile. “Which in my family is a bit different. Causes debates at reunions.

“When I was still a young man, I served as an engineering officer on a light cruiser called the Pericles. I’ll never forget something that happened on that ship. During a battle, one of our primary coolant lines ruptured, and a damage-control team tried to seal it. Radiation levels got high enough that the computer system automatically sealed the compartment. We desperately tried to get the door open to get those men out before they died, but every tool we had broke down, and we couldn’t get in.”

MacIntosh paused as he relived the memory. “The chaplain on the Pericles was an old Catholic priest. Father Rafferty. He happened to be assigned to a damage-control team in the engineering spaces, and he came up to us while we were swearing, banging on the door, and trying to cut it with a plasma cutter or anything else we could get our hands on. He asked us to let him pray with us.”

David listened intently as MacIntosh continued.

“We all held hands with him, and I will never forget the feeling that washed over me as this priest asked God to help us. I heard him say we would become calm, our tools would begin to function, and we would rescue those men. A feeling of peace came over me that I have never felt before or since. After he was done, we tried again. We had those men out in less than five minutes, and every last one of them survived.”

MacIntosh had become emotional as he spoke of the memory. “I’m sure that some people would tell me it was just random chance, and we got lucky. But I know with every fiber of my being that somehow, through Father Rafferty, God helped us save those men. If you believe that God helped you by letting your best friend explain something to you from beyond the grave… then I’ll back that one hundred fifty percent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

MacIntosh put his hand on David’s shoulder. “You’re a fine officer, Colonel Cohen. You have a lot left to give to this fight, and I need you in it. All of you.”

“I’m in it, sir. To the end, regardless of where that takes us,” David replied, his voice filled with confidence.

“Then get your ship ready to get back out there. We need to fly the flag for a few more days, but after that… you will be back on the front.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed, Colonel.”

David came to attention before leaving the room, looking at MacIntosh in an entirely different light.

* * *

David had a meeting with Dr. Hayworth in his office set for 1400 hours. Looking at the clock on his tablet, he wondered whether Hayworth was just one of those people who were always late or if he was doing it on purpose to spite him.

Fifteen minutes after the hour, the door chime buzzed.

“Come,” David said, annoyed.

The hatch swung open, and Dr. Hayworth strode in and plopped into one of the chairs in front of David’s desk. “Greetings, Colonel. How are you today?” he asked cheerfully.

“I’m well, Doctor. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Major Merriweather and I have been assigned to the Lion of Judah for the foreseeable future.”

“I have,” David said, failing to hide the irritation in his voice. He figured that Hayworth would have been disappointed by the news, but for whatever reason, the doctor seemed to relish it.

“Oh, come now, Colonel. This will be fun.”

“I don’t follow, Doctor. I don’t like being responsible for civilians who haven’t served and don’t know how to handle themselves on a military vessel. I remind you… we’re at war.”

Hayworth just smiled. “I’m what you would call a force multiplier, Colonel. I’ll ensure you get the best technology and the newest equipment.”

David suppressed the desire to roll his eyes. The man got under his skin. “Well, anything to make this ship more effective than it already is, Doctor.”

“Was that a compliment, Colonel?”

“To your technical abilities.” David forced a thin smile.

“Which are magically bestowed on us by God, eh? Or is it that you just can’t stand anyone who doesn’t share your superstitions?”

David took a breath. “I think HaShem gives us the abilities. We choose what to make of them. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Hayworth leaned forward. “There is no God. I’m just a freak of nature with a high intelligence quotient. Thank me, not your imaginary man in the sky.”

David stared at Hayworth, unwilling to back down. “Only a fool says there is no God, Doctor.”

“Ah, yes. Psalms.”

“Have you read the Torah?”

Hayworth’s expression hardened. “My wife was a Christian. I’ve never had faith in anything but science, but she asked me to read the Bible, and I agreed. Know your enemy, after all. She believed God not only existed but also actually cared about her. Little good it did her when she got sick and died. Where was that magical God then? He doesn’t exist. Do yourself a favor and accept that, Colonel. You’re a smart man. You shouldn’t concern yourself with fairy tales to keep the children behaving.”

“Doctor, you will never shake my faith. People die. Everyone dies, sooner or later.”

“Why did your God let Major Thompson die so soon, then?”

Hayworth’s argument sting, but he stuck to his guns. “We have free will. She made a choice to do what she believed in.”

Hayworth smirked. “Ah, religious people try to have it both ways. Which is it? Do we have free will, or does God have a plan and pull our strings?”

“I believe He has a plan, but we often don’t follow it. Certainly, our enemies don’t follow it. Is it so hard to believe that HaShem has a desire for us to do certain things but chooses not to force us?” David paused. “I must ask. If you dislike people of faith so much, why are you here?”

Hayworth looked past him. “Tell me, Colonel—if you could, would you force me to believe what you do?”

Revolted, David asked, “Is that a serious question, Doctor? I would never force another to believe what I do. In fact, I would and do put my life on the line daily for your right to believe in anything you want, including nothing.”

Hayworth pursed his lips.

“That’s why I’m here, Colonel. Because here in the Coalition, I’m free to believe or not. That freedom is a higher calling than any religion. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike people of faith. I dislike religions and falsehoods. Belief in the supernatural is a falsehood, not a truth. Some lovely people are utterly wrong, and that grieves me.”

David leaned back.

Hayworth continued, “I’d like to ask you, though, do you ever question your beliefs? Do you ever consider that you may be wrong?”

“I have many times. I’ve questioned God’s existence and why bad things happen to seemingly good people.”

“And?”

“I cannot find a more logical explanation for our existence than a creator. Are you familiar with Pascal’s Wager?” David asked, referencing the work of Blaise Pascal, who created an argument that humans bet with their lives that God either existed or didn’t exist.

Hayworth raised a hand. “Colonel, just as I cannot shake your belief, you cannot shake mine.”

“Fair enough, Doctor. A counterquestion… Do you ever question your beliefs?”

Hayworth regarded David. “Every day, Colonel. Every day. Because I’m a scientist. And every day I come to the same conclusion. On the evidence. Or lack thereof.” He stood to leave. “For all our sakes, Colonel, if your supernatural being does exist, I hope it’s behind you. Either way, I hope your faith helps you kill our enemies. As for me, I’ll give you the best tools possible to do just that.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” David gritted out.

“Good day, Colonel.” Hayworth turned on his heel and walked out.

44

David glanced around the set of the holonews program, which was on a different channel from his last adventure in the media. Canaan News Network had an editorial viewpoint opposite from his last interviewer’s take on the war, for which he was grateful. Even so, he wanted to be careful not to “spike the football.” His emotions were still conflicted, but for the most part, he was back on a fairly even keel. More than anything, he wanted to get the public-relations work out of the way and get back to what had to be done—taking the war to the League.

Seated in the chair, David waited patiently for the interviewer, a holonet pundit by the name of Karen Byrne. He ran over the talking points that General MacIntosh had drilled into him about the war, focusing on the entry of the Saurians and the rekindling of the Canaan Alliance.

After a few minutes, Byrne walked in, flashing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel. I had a last-minute change in the next guest, which I had to prepare for.”

David stood and offered his hand. “No problem at all, ma’am.”

She shook his hand with a grip that surprised David. “All ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Before we start, I’d like to say, off the record, that what you and your crew did last week has given me and a lot of other people in the Terran Coalition hope that we can finally win this war.”

“That means a lot, Ms. Byrne. But the credit belongs to my crew, not me.”

“Please, call me Karen.” She smiled. “My interview notes said you were humble. That’s a nice trait, Colonel, but let me give you some advice. You’re a hero. Own it. If for no other reason than it helps our cause to have a hero, especially right now.”

“I’m not a hero,” David said sadly. “The real heroes were the men and women who returned home in flag-draped caskets.”

She leaned forward and touched his arm. “Yes, they are, Colonel. You must remember the citizens of our country need a real, live, larger-than-life hero. Not only do you fit the bill, but you just might be the real thing. I’ve heard you say that you serve because of a desire to be part of something bigger than you. So to honor the rest of your crew, own this moment. We all need it. We need to believe again. Almost all of us, I’m sure even you, had begun to accept that someday the League would win.”

“I think I did, Karen,” David said. “But that didn’t mean we weren’t going to make them pay for every inch in blood.” He offered her a rueful smile.

“Ready to get started, Colonel?”

“Let’s do this,” he said, immensely more relaxed than the last time he had been in a similar chair.

Byrne motioned to the director of the studio. “Take us live,” she said with her trademark warm smile.

David sat back as the director counted down the time to live. At three seconds, he switched to hand signals and went silent.

“This is Karen Byrne, reporting for Canaan News Network. I’m joined tonight by a special guest, Colonel David Cohen, commanding officer of the CSV Lion of Judah. Thank you for coming, Colonel.”

“Thank you for having me, Ms. Byrne.”

“It has been a momentous week for the Coalition, Colonel,” she said. “How does it feel to be the son of the man who saved Canaan and now, who also saved Canaan himself?”

David pursed his lips. “Just doing my job to the best of my ability.”

“Thankfully for the Coalition, that was enough to defeat Admiral Seville and his armada. You lost a close friend, didn’t you?”

David gulped. “I did.”

“Can you tell our viewers about her?”

“Major Thompson was the best friend a person could ever ask for. She lived for the cause, and she would lay down her life for another without a moment’s hesitation. She’d give the shirt off her back to someone who didn’t have one or her last credit to a food drive. She lived what she believed,” David explained with pride.

“I know we’ve all lost someone in this war. I’ve never met someone in the Terran Coalition who was untouched by it. That said, I understand this loss was deeply personal to you.”

“Yes, it was. Sheila and I met each other a few days into boot camp twenty years ago. You make bonds during that period that last for life. I can still hear my drill instructor yelling at me. But I have an obligation, as do all of us who have lost someone, to carry on. Otherwise, their deaths are in vain.”

“And now the Saurians have joined our side. How do you think that’s going to help the Coalition?” Byrne asked, sticking to a line of questioning agreed upon ahead of time.

“I think it’s going to change the course of the war. The Saurians have a fleet that is roughly the same size as ours. They’ve pledged to send seventy percent of it to join us in the fight against the League. I believe we will push the League out of our space and throw them on their heels,” David said with conviction. It wasn’t just one of his provided talking points by MacIntosh. He believed it.

“Do you think we can ultimately win the war?”

“Yes. Not only can we win the war, but we will. The Terran Coalition and our allies must win. If we don’t, it will plunge our galaxy into a dark age.”

Sitting back, Byrne asked, “And how will we win, Colonel?”

David hesitated, remembering the order he’d received from MacIntosh not to over-editorialize. “I think we’ve all heard the saying that might makes right. In our case, I believe that right makes might. In terms of combat, we now have the initiative. We, the entire Coalition Defense Force and the Saurian Imperial Navy, will take the fight to the League and drive them back. The thing is that we have to keep the initiative and press forward. We cannot lose sight of the end goal—the destruction of the League of Sol.”

“Why not simply force a peace with them?”

“If that is what our civilian leaders desire, then that’s what we’ll do, ma’am. But President Spencer has been clear that he believes the League is an evil that must be destroyed, and I couldn’t agree with him more. As for my part, I recall the words of a soldier many hundreds of years ago who pledged he would fight, he would sacrifice, and he would act as if the outcome of the entire war rested solely on him. I ask that of myself and of those I command.”

Byrne regarded David. “Thank you, Colonel. I believe you’ve painted a picture for our viewers of where things are now. Can you say what the next destination for the Lion of Judah is?”

David smiled. “Shakedown cruise for the next three months then on to the front.”

“I’m sure you will be eager to get back into the fight, Colonel. Good hunting and Godspeed.”

David nodded as the on-air light blinked off, then he relaxed. That wasn’t too bad, especially considering the last time I was in the interview chair.

“Thank you for joining me, Colonel. It was an honor to meet you, and regardless of what you say, I and most of the Terran Coalition view you as a hero. Thank you for your service.”

David stood as she did and offered his hand. “Just doing my job, but thank you.”

Byrne smiled and shook his hand. “Then keep on doing it, Colonel. Hopefully, I’ll get to interview you after we drive the League from our space. I look forward to the day.”

“Me too. Until then, Godspeed, Karen.”

“Godspeed, Colonel.”

He turned away from her and walked out of the studio then exited the building to head back to the ship. While he didn’t care for the use of his ship and crew as a propaganda piece, David understood why it had to be done. Morale had been weak for years, and the people needed a symbol to help them believe again. If the Lion of Judah was that symbol, well, all of them would have to live up to that standard.

Walking down the street of the busy capital city on Canaan, David could tell that something had changed. The way people talked to and looked one another and even walked down the sidewalks had changed. They had purpose in their steps and smiles on their faces, and they seemed to have hope again. And if there was hope, anything was possible.

45

After the ship had been fully provisioned and made ready to launch a few days after his final interview, David held his last command briefing before the Lion was due to depart. Arriving nearly twenty minutes before the meeting was to commence, he sat in the chair at the end of the table. Thinking over the events of the last two weeks, he was in some ways in awe of what had transpired and in others simply dumbfounded they had survived.

The ship’s senior officers began to arrive, and after standing, he greeted each one and offered his hand. Then as the last member of the invited party entered the room, David took his place at the head of the table.

“Thank you all for coming. I wanted to gather one last time today to talk over our orders and ensure all departments have what they need for the coming few weeks and that we’re ready to go,” David stated.

Ruth, Hanson, Demood, and Tinetariro nodded. The others looked at David intently.

“I would also like to welcome two new members of our crew: Lieutenant Colonel Talgat Aibek of the Saurian Imperial Navy and Kenneth Lowe from SSI, who is leading the four hundred contractors who will be joining us for the foreseeable future to keep our ship fully operational.”

Kenneth pursed his lips, and Aibek interjected, “Thank you, Colonel Cohen. It is an honor to be a part of this crew. I know you all suffered a great loss from the death of Major Thompson. I will endeavor in some small way to live up to her standard.”

David paused to compose himself. While he was in a much better place, the wound from his loss was still raw. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Moving on, David asked, “Major Hanson, what’s our engineering readiness?”

Hanson glanced at Merriweather before clearing his throat. “The reactor is as ready as we can make it, sir. Major Merriweather and Dr. Hayworth believe it’s fully combat capable.”

“I have concerns, Major, that the lack of a shakedown cruise will cause small glitches to manifest at the most inopportune times,” David replied. Disinformation was being spread everywhere to make the League think the Lion would be out of the fight for months.

“That’s not an unreasonable concern, sir,” Merriweather replied. “We’ve taken steps to reduce the risk by stockpiling spare parts for every conceivable critical system.”

Kenneth spoke up. “If I may, sirs… ma’am?”

At David’s signal, Kenneth spoke. “We’ve filled four of the six major cargo bays with spare parts, focusing on weapons, defensive systems, including damage control, and propulsion. I’m confident there’s enough to sustain us through a three-month deployment.”

David relaxed slightly. We’re not out of the woods, but Kenneth’s got a good plan. “Very well. Colonel Amir, what is our flight-wing status?”

Amir cleared his throat. “Sir, we have all sixteen squadrons aboard along with munitions and parts for a sustained campaign. There is one concern, however. Our squadrons are pulled from several different carriers, and two are filled with raw recruits. There will be some amount of time required to form them into a cohesive fighting unit.”

Aibek raised an eyebrow. “We only have two weeks before we begin our counter-offensive.”

“That information is eyes only, Colonel,” David said. I wasn’t going to discuss that with Kenneth in the room. He’s got no need to know. “It does not leave this room, under any circumstances. Command has been careful to allow leaks that would suggest we’ve got at least three months before we start pushing back.” David made a particular point to look at Kenneth. “Mr. Lowe, please remember the terms of your nondisclosure agreement.”

Kenneth appeared uneasy. “I didn’t hear anything, sir.”

David smiled. “Excellent.” After a moment, he continued, “Weapons status, Lieutenant Goldberg?”

Ruth held her head up and sat straighter in her chair. “All damage to our magnetic cannons has been repaired, and all weapon systems are fully operational. We have also made some changes to our shield distribution network, thanks to suggestions made by the contractor team. They analyzed the logs of shield-generator failures and devised a way to cross-connect quadrants. I believe we’ll see better performance in our next engagement.”

“We also made some adjustments to our sublight engines and thruster systems, sir. Combined with the shield enhancements, it will make the ship a tougher nut to crack,” Hammond added.

“Outstanding work, Lieutenant Goldberg. Lieutenant Hammond.”

David turned toward Dr. Tural. “Doctor, have you been able to get the rest of the medical personnel you asked for transferred in?”

“Yes, sir. We now have our full medical personnel complement, including a dentist and a counselor.”

David looked at Tinetariro for his next question. “Master Chief, how are we doing on crew morale and readiness?”

Tinetariro smiled thinly. “The enlisted personnel are shipshape and ready to go, sir. We have a full crew and full stores, and we’re ready to fight.”

“And morale?” David pressed.

“Quite frankly, sir, I’ve never seen morale higher. The ratings want to… pardon the term… kick some ass.”

Assorted smiles and grins spread through the assembled group.

Calvin said, “It’s almost like we’ve got a ship crewed by Marines.”

Laughter broke out.

“Thank you, Master Chief,” David said. Turning to Calvin, he posed his next question. “Colonel Demood, what of our Marine contingent?”

“All three thousand Marines aboard and waiting to be ferried to our next engagement zone.”

“Oh, so we’re just the ferry service now?” Ruth asked with her arms crossed in front of her, but she wore a playful smile.

“Lieutenant, we all know if you need something absolutely, positively blown apart, call the Marines,” Calvin answered a bit cockily, in true Marine fashion.

“Or I could just fire enough fusion warheads into the target to reduce it to its constituent atoms,” Ruth said with her own evil grin.

“What about the special operations team?” David interrupted.

“Accounted for and ready to roll, sir. We technically have four space special-warfare teams aboard as well as a company of special-operations-capable Recon Marines.”

“So we’re ready to roll?” David asked the room.

Heads nodded in agreement.

“All right. We have two weeks of intensive, twenty-four-hour-a-day shakedown activities. After that, we will deploy with a battlegroup that includes the Royal Saurian Navy’s flagship, the RSN Elcin,” David announced. The Elcin was an enormous battleship that had been purpose-built with sixteen turrets of magnetic cannons. She was the pride of the Royal Saurian Navy.

“Our objective is to drive the League from our space and into their own sphere of influence.” Tapping a few buttons, David called up a map on the interactive hologram projector in the middle of the conference table. “As you can see, the League is currently engaged in combat operations in eleven Terran Coalition planetary systems and has occupied half of our outer rim colonies in the last ten years. Thanks to the reformation of the Canaan Alliance, with the Terran Coalition and the Saurian Empire as signatories, the Joint Chiefs of Staff have activated the old CA military structure. As such, the supreme allied commander, Space Force will lead the joint Terran Coalition and Royal Saurian Navy fleets committed to the war effort.”

David pulled up another graphic. “Additionally, the Joint Chiefs and Royal Saurian Navy command have created the supreme headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force. It’s pronounced shafe. SHAEF will oversee the invasion of League space.” He let his words sink in then asked, “Any questions?”

“How are we going to keep all that brass shiny and working well together, sir?” Calvin asked lightly.

Feigning annoyance, Aibek shook his head. “By bashing heads together so that everyone gets along.”

The humans stared at the Saurian before he smiled. “I jest!”

Calvin commented, “That’s some dry humor, Colonel.”

“The best kind!” Aibek quipped back.

“Okay, everyone, I hate overly long meetings, so that’s all I have. Any saved rounds?” David asked.

Ruth leaned forward. “Master Chief, any idea when we could get invited to the chiefs’ mess?”

Tinetariro turned and glowered at Ruth. “With respect, ma’am, you have to wait for the invitation. You can’t ask for it.”

Kenneth took that moment to jump in. “Ah, sirs, if I may, I was asked by members of my team if I could request that the former chiefs and above of the contracting team be allowed to eat at the chiefs’ mess.”

“The master chief has final say on that, Kenneth,” David replied.

Tinetariro appraised the contractor. “I’ll allow anyone who retired as a chief petty officer or above to join us anytime, Mr. Lowe.”

“Thank you, ma’am. If I may… why is going to the chiefs’ mess so important to everyone?”

“Because the chiefs have the best food. They run the mess and cooking staff and ensure they get the best food for themselves,” David said. “It’s called the goat locker.”

Ruth smirked. “You would know, sir, mustang and all.”

Tinetariro rolled her eyes. “Tell you what, Mr. Lowe—join us tomorrow for dinner and see what it’s all about.”

“Wait a minute. You just invited a defense contractor to the chiefs’ mess but not us?” Calvin asked with mock annoyance.

“Why, yes, sir.”

The entire group laughed at the turn of events as David stood once more. “Okay, everyone. Let’s get to it. We shove off at oh eight hundred tomorrow morning. I’ll see most of you on the bridge. You’re dismissed. Godspeed.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir” followed as they stood and filed out of the room. Kenneth stayed behind, apparently waiting for a moment alone with David.

He took notice and paused for the contractor. “Something on your mind, Kenneth?”

“I’ve been meaning to thank you, sir.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“For whatever you said to my boss’s boss, sir. You saved my hide, but more importantly to me, you saved my team’s hides.”

“I might have had a short conversation. After all, you guys saved our hides out there.”

Kenneth tilted his head. “All part of the service, sir.”

David laughed. “Keep it up, Mr. Lowe.”

Pulling himself up just a little bit taller, Kenneth pursued his lips and smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Carry on,” David said, walking past the contractor toward the exit.

Striding down the passageway of the ship to his office, he felt alive again. They were able to strike back at the League of Sol, and his ship would be in the vanguard. A month ago, he would have said that actually pushing back and taking the fight to the League was impossible. Not only had it become possible, but it seemed probable they would win. Smiling, he knew the fight was far from over, but perhaps it was the beginning of the end for the League and for the war.

46

The following day, David rose at his usual hour of oh dark thirty to complete his morning exercise and grooming routine. Since the ship was not yet underway, David chose to wear his service khaki uniform instead of the traditional space sweater. On his way toward the wardroom, he bumped into Tinetariro outside a gravlift station.

As soon as she saw him, she brought herself to attention. “Colonel Cohen.”

“At ease, Master Chief.”

“How are you this morning, sir?”

“Honestly, I can’t tell you the last time I felt this energized. Even with all the emotional trauma of the last few weeks, the concept that we might be on the verge of pasting the League all over space… That’s enough to get me up and going in the morning.”

Tinetariro grinned. “I couldn’t say it any better, sir. Have you had breakfast already?”

“I haven’t , Master Chief.”

“Perhaps you would care to join me in the chiefs’ mess, sir.”

“I would be honored.” Technically, David could go into any mess or any part of the ship he wanted, as he was its commanding officer. However, tradition was that only chiefs or those they invited could enter the chiefs’ mess.

“Then follow me, sir. We have something prepared for you.”

David fell in behind her, wondering what on earth they had come up with. After a brisk walk through the ship, they arrived. Even though the ship had only been a commissioned warship again for the better part of two weeks, the chiefs had already made the space their own. A stylized drawing of a goat in a spacesuit adorned the hatch.

David chuckled. “The Goat Locker, eh?”

Tinetariro laughed as she opened the door. “I thought that was a nice touch myself.”

As he strode into the large mess area, David’s eyes were immediately drawn to a buffet of food in the center.

“All the food is kosher today, sir,” Tinetariro said.

David walked over to the buffet and immediately realized it was an Israeli breakfast. He got a plate and put a generous helping of eggs and root vegetables on it along with some smoked fish.

“I tried some of that fish.”

“Oh?”

“It was… interesting.”

David grinned. “Well, it’s pareve. Even a kosher sausage can’t be consumed with the rest of this food.”

“I’m just a gentile, sir. It’s Greek to me.”

“Pareve means a food is neither meat nor dairy. We can’t mix the two types of food.”

“Who decides all that anyway?”

“Various rabbis throughout the ages, interpreting the Torah.”

“I don’t think I could give up my bacon, sir.”

“Never had it, so I don’t know what I’m missing,” David replied, laughing.

After they’d both finished heaping their plates, they walked to a nearby table and sat down.

David took out his napkin, leaving his silverware on the table. “Would you care to join me in blessing our food, Master Chief?”

“Gladly, sir.”

David bowed his head. “God, creator of the universe and all that is within it, bless this food today and give us wisdom to do Your will.”

Lifting his head, he dug into his eggs. They tasted amazing, especially after six months of frozen rations. “Where did you guys get all this fresh food, Master Chief?”

“Well, we do control the food budget, after all,” she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. “That, and the quartermaster corps was unusually willing to send some great stuff our way. We’ll eat well for at least the next month.”

“Count me in. I’ve spent so much time in space that I’ve forgotten what basic staples taste like.”

“We will be having this breakfast buffet every third day we’re underway until the supplies run out. You’re welcome to join us on any of those days.”

“Well, thank you, Master Chief. I’m pretty sure I’m going to take you up on that offer for as long as I can.”

“On a more serious note, Colonel, I don’t expect the next six months to be easy. But I want you to know that everyone on this ship will give whatever it takes to secure victory, including the ultimate sacrifice.”

David set his fork down, peering at her. “I’d much rather our friends in the League pay the ultimate price rather than us, Master Chief.”

“Agreed, Colonel.”

After they’d finished their meals, David stood. “Join me on the bridge, Master Chief? We’re to depart Canaan space dock in half an hour.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the galaxy, Colonel.”

David smiled, realizing that for the first time in a long time, he was actually happy. Even in the midst of the terror, the sadness, and the unending war, he was for the first time in many, many years a happy warrior. Not happy that he had to fight or that they would have to kill a lot of Leaguers in the coming months but happy in the sense that his cause was just, and he was glad to fight for it. “I’ll see you up there, Master Chief. Thanks again for the great meal.”

“Anytime, Colonel.”

David walked out of the chiefs’ mess and made his way to the bridge. He exchanged salutes with the armed Marines who guarded the door to the combined bridge and combat information center. Ducking under the hatch, he pulled on his cover and saw Tinetariro. How’d she get up here faster than me? Perhaps it was some super-secret master chief ability.

“Colonel on the bridge!” she called.

“As you were,” David said as the enlisted personnel and officers who weren’t buckled in braced to attention and saluted. He returned their salutes with a crisp one of his own.

Aibek sat in the XO’s chair, and David slid in next to him. That was something he would have to get used to: no Sheila on the bridge.

Turning to Aibek, David asked, “Are we ready to depart, XO?”

“Yes, sir. All stations report ready, and we are cleared to depart from Canaan space control.”

“Communications, please tie the 1MC into my console.”

“Tied in, sir. You’re online,” Taylor replied.

“Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. Just a week ago, we were heading out to secure peace for the Terran Coalition. I know that, like me, all of you were bitterly disappointed when that peace agreement turned out to be yet another ruse by the League. However, thanks to the dedication, bravery, and tenacity of this crew and the grace of God, we defeated the League. Today, we stand as united as ever and with our new allies.” David glanced at Aibek. “We will prevail. This ship has already earned its stripes in battle, and you have acquitted yourselves as well as I could’ve hoped for. It’s an honor to lead you, and in the coming weeks and months, we will drive the League from our space. We will take the fight to them, and God willing, we’ll finish this war once and for all. Stand by for departure and man your stations. Colonel Cohen out.”

David glanced around the bridge, seeing energized and smiling crewmen and officers. Allowing a grin to crease his face, he turned toward Hammond. “Navigation, disengage all moorings and umbilicals.”

“All moorings and umbilicals disengaged, sir.”

“Navigation, take us out. All ahead, dead slow.”

“All ahead, dead slow. Aye, aye, sir.”

As the mighty vessel slowly began to move, the shipyard bay they occupied started to disappear behind them.

Aibek interrupted David’s thoughts. “Colonel, what does the star that was painted on our hull yesterday signify?”

“It’s a battle star.”

“What is that exactly, sir?”

“In the CDF, any ship in a major fleet engagement whose participation was meritorious is awarded a battle star for that engagement. Some, especially our older carriers, have dozens.” David smiled. “But the first one is always the one of which the crew is most proud.”

“I see,” Aibek said thoughtfully. “So many customs and oddities you humans have.”

“We like to remember things.”

“I am looking forward to learning from you, Colonel. And the rest of your crew.”

“I hope we can learn something from you as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can both teach each other a few things,” Aibek said with a chuckle.

David’s eyes went back forward, watching the stars move as the Lion adjusted course.

For the next four hours, the ship began its journey to the proving ground, and he thought through tactics they could use against the League. After that, it was time for him to grab a quick lunch then retire to his office to handle paperwork and prepare for the meeting he’d requested with Ruth.

* * *

Later that day, Ruth swung open the hatch to David’s office and walked in.

“Come in, Ruth,” he said informally.

She made her way to a chair in front of his desk. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now than I was. I still can’t believe she’s gone. I keep expecting her to walk through the door to the bridge and tell us it was all a big joke.”

A smile crossed her face. “I know what you mean. She was a big inspiration to me, you know.”

“I know she had been mentoring you.”

Ruth closed her eyes for a moment. “She wanted me to volunteer for the command track. She also wanted...”

“What?”

“Just my... anger. My hatred of the League.”

“I actually thought I’d talk to you about that. Everyone here hates the League—but not the people. We all relish the fight but not the killing. Sometimes I get the feeling you...”

Ruth opened her eyes. “It’s under control, sir.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Something I’ve learned and am still trying to learn is that hating the enemy does nothing except harm me. It doesn’t hurt them. It only makes me more like them.”

“That sounds like Sheila speaking.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m still not sure how she managed not to end up hating every member of the League.”

“Ruth, when we give in to hate, it hollows us out. Trust me. I know this from experience.”

Ruth gulped. “I’m trying. It’s harder without her.” Obviously wanting to change the subject, she said, “You should come to the nondenominational church service this week. Sheila is the subject of the sermon.”

David raised an eyebrow. “I would have expected to see you at shul instead.”

She gave a nervous smile. “I went a few times with Sheila over the last few months. I wanted to go again.”

David laughed. “What’s next? Converting and making your parents roll over in their graves?”

Ruth scowled.

David realized his comment, while made in jest, had hurt. “I’m sorry. Bad joke and too soon.”

“No… I’ve just felt at home there.”

“Don’t you feel more at home at the shul?” David asked, softening his expression.

Ruth seemed to struggle to explain. “There’s something about the idea of a personal connection with God. I can’t quite explain it, but Sheila made that seem like a special experience. With all that goes on around us—this war, the deaths of our friends—I want something more than reading prayers.”

“Our faith is about a lot more than reading prayers, Ruth.”

“I know that, but what if God really did sacrifice His own son for us? Wouldn’t that be an amazing thing? What if we all lived by the ideals Jesus espoused? Wouldn’t this galaxy be a better place?”

“Ruth, I… I think we all agree that Jesus was a good man. But we Jews don’t hold him to be Messiah. To us, he was just a man who tried to reform the Jews of his time and got himself martyred by the Romans.”

“But what if he wasn’t? Christians have survived repeated attempts to annihilate them. They endured in the face of that oppression, even when it would have been to their benefit to renounce their beliefs. In and of itself, that points to the idea that there was something to the basis of Christianity.”

“Sorry, we Jews cornered the market on being persecuted—and by Christians too. For that matter, other faiths have suffered horrible attacks, massacres, pogroms... That’s not the litmus test for a religion being the one true gospel. We’re Jews, and we have a rich history and culture. I’m proud to be a Jew.”

“As am I,” Ruth said emphatically. “But I think there’s something out there beyond the law. I go around wanting to judge everyone by the law, especially the League. What if it’s not my place to judge? What if there’s something more?”

“Then that’s something you’ll have to figure out. I’m not here to tell you you’re right or wrong. All I will say is you need to remember you’re hurting right now. Don’t make any hasty choices.”

“You know me.”

David laughed. “Yes, exactly. I know you pretty well after six months. Don’t make any hasty choices.” He recalled the old line about how the only thing two Jews could agree on was what a third should give to charity.

“I won’t.” She paused. “I had my first one-on-one meeting with Colonel Aibek.”

“He’s an interesting individual.”

“I don’t think I’ve encountered a Saurian as jovial as he is. Or tries to be. I’m not always sure when he’s joking—and his sense of humor is grim.”

“I would have to agree. That said, he seems to know his business, and I think he’s a good man… well, Saurian.”

“Do they really eat live rodents? I heard one of the mess cooks talking about that.”

David rolled his eyes. “No, that’s just a rumor. They are mostly carnivorous, though.”

“I also find it interesting that almost all of them are religious. It’s fascinating to me that many of the cultures we’ve encountered have religions that remind me of the Abrahamic faiths. You’d think that would lend some credence to the idea of God in someone like Dr. Hayworth.”

Many years ago, Christian missionaries had discovered that historically, Saurian religion was monotheistic and included a belief in a great prophet and messianic figure who’d come to save them from their incessant wars. Eventually, that religion became dominant, and many human scholars and theologians made comparisons with Christianity, looking for parallels—or a common divine inspiration, perhaps. There were enough direct similarities that David found the argument compelling. He thought it likely that, at the root of it all, that God had inspired them.Not all Saurians cared for the comparisons, especially as many Saurians viewed humans as inferior.

“Dr. Hayworth is entitled to his beliefs and opinions.”

Ruth made a sour face. “There are times I wish we could get rid of people like him.”

That comment drew a sharp look from David. “Ruth, don’t go down that path. You can’t force people to believe something. They have to come upon it on their own. The end of that path is the League, except we’d be a theocracy that executed its citizens if they didn’t toe the line. We left those guys behind on Earth, and I pray they never come back.”

“You’re telling me it doesn’t bother you when he insults God and the rest of us by saying he believes in the flying spaghetti monster?”

David laughed. “Of course it does—that’s Hayworth, not atheism. I know kind, considerate atheists, and I know nasty, mean religious people. Everyone has the right to believe as they wish in the Coalition. Everyone must come to God on their own—or not. HaShem will judge in the end, after we die. And if there ends up being no God...” He shrugged. “That won’t change how I lived my life the best I could according to His law and teaching.”

Ruth gave him a weak smile and shrugged. “That seems fair.”

“But you don’t agree.”

“My head agrees. My heart...”

“If you let Hayworth get under your skin, he wins. Worse, he proves his point—that if we abandon our principles, our Jewish faith is useless in the real world. It’s up to us to prove it’s not useless. It guides us in how we relate to people and what choices we make.”

Ruth smiled more genuinely. “Point taken.”

David looked at the clock and stood. “It’s about time for dinner. Care to join me in the wardroom?”

“Of course, sir.”

As they strode down the passageways, with crew members standing aside in the narrow places to let their commander by, David turned his thoughts away from interpersonal politics to upcoming combat operations. Endless possibilities branched out from what had seemed like a dead end only a few weeks ago.

47

Admiral Pierre Seville sat in his new stateroom on his new flagship, the LSS Annihilator. The last two weeks had been interesting, he reflected as he looked at the walls festooned with portraits of past League leaders. I still have a hard time understanding why Strappi didn’t leave me to die when he could’ve. Especially the way I’ve treated him over the years.

After his evacuation from the Destruction, Seville had been informed by a doctor aboard the cruiser he ended up on that he would lose his other eye. Now he had two bionic eyes. Strangely enough, thanks to the technology level of the League, his artificial eyes were better than the real thing. But they still felt odd, like there was a foreign object in his brain.

The blame game has started, Seville thought bitterly. Assigning blame and executing traitors after the fact were about the only things the Social and Public Safety Committee was good at. Seville had played the game long enough to pin the tail on everyone but him, especially those who were dead, including his flag captain. It pained him that the man’s family would be reassigned to a work camp, but the feeling was brief. Only Seville’s continued existence and success was a factor in his decision-making. To that end, he had successfully convinced the committee to keep him in place as the leader of the military expedition against the Terran Coalition.

Seville had to admit he was impressed by the ingenuity shown by the Terrans. To get a new type of reactor working under their noses and without League spies coming upon the information was a shock. It was also surprising that they’d gotten lucky and put the exact ship needed to counteract his plan in place with no advance notice. Chuckling, he considered that many in the Terran Coalition would likely chalk that luck up to a miracle from God. To him, it was simply proof that low-probability events did occur.

One major thing that had changed with the Saurians entering the war on the side of the Terran Coalition was that the League viewed the conflict through a new lens. More, newer ships would be coming along with more troops. Seville had been promised they would see double the numbers in the next few months, but he would believe that when he saw it.

The chime at his hatch rang.

“Yes?” he called, annoyed.

“Admiral, it’s Colonel Strappi.”

Oh goody. “Come in, Colonel.”

The door opened on Seville’s command, and Colonel Strappi walked into the stateroom.

“Sit down, Colonel. Make yourself comfortable,” Seville said with gaiety.

“I didn’t expect your spirits to be so high, Admiral,” Strappi replied cautiously.

Seville regarded him. He really did despise political officers, but Strappi had grown on him, especially after saving Seville’s life. He’d resolved not to openly mock the man as much as he used to. “Despite our recent setbacks, Colonel, we’re closer now to winning than ever before.”

Strappi raised an eyebrow. “With respect, sir, how do you fathom that? Our flagship was destroyed. You were nearly killed, an elite strike team I didn’t even know existed was destroyed, and the religious fanatics of the Terran Coalition are braying to the entire galaxy how their God saved them. If that weren’t enough, the Saurians joined this so-called Canaan Alliance, and intelligence intercepts suggest the Matrinids will as well. On the face of it, this looks like a total disaster.”

Seville laughed. “Colonel, you’re supposed to be our morale officer. That sounds like a report I’d hear on that infernal Canaan News Channel. You’re not looking at it the right way.”

Strappi snorted. “How should I be looking at it, sir?”

“Yes, the Terrans won a victory. And yes, it’s done a lot of things for them. Oh, over the next six months, we’ll get our asses handed to us in every battle. They’ve got high morale, ours is low, they received what amounts to their entire military as reinforcements, and they’ve got a hero to motivate them.” Seville leaned forward. “But the very things that give them strength, we can turn against them and use to destroy the Terran Coalition once and for all.”

Strappi sat in silence, waiting for Seville to go on.

“We will bide our time, marshal our reinforcements, and trade space for time. The Terrans and their newfound allies will press the advantage. They will stretch out their supply lines, and at a time and place of our choosing, we will overwhelm one of their battlegroups with numbers and begin to roll them back.”

Strappi nodded. “But what about that new ship of theirs? It outclasses anything we have.”

Seville shook his head. “It’s a gimmick ship. Yes, it’s got advanced technology, and its commander is resourceful and capable. But it’s only one ship. We almost had them in our first engagement. All we have to do is overwhelm it with numbers.”

Strappi looked a bit doubtful. “I understand, sir, but I worry about the cost it will take to destroy that ship. I worry for our morale.”

Seville allowed a grin to cross his face. “There’s one more thing, Colonel. That ship, for better or for worse, has been turned into a hero by the Terran Coalition’s media. Its crew, its captain—they’re all heroes. That’s a powerful weapon against us because the entire sequence of events has given the Terrans hope again. Hope is a powerful ally in combat, but in doing so, they’ve handed us a weapon. All we have to do is destroy that ship, and we’ll grind their hope under our feet.”

For the first time since he had sat down, Strappi appeared as if he bought what Seville was selling. “In other words, destroy that ship and kill the hope, and they’ll collapse?”

Seville nodded. “Exactly. We’re going to destroy the Lion of Judah, kill Colonel Cohen, and make sure it’s front-page news. When we do, the Terran Coalition’s will to fight will fall apart. You and I will be the heroes of the League, and someday we will be in a position to effect real change within the League.”

Strappi looked up, fear in his eyes. “Those are… dangerous words, Admiral.”

“Words that need to be spoken, Colonel. And you will be safest at my side.”

“I live to serve, Admiral,” he responded neutrally.

Seville again responded with a smile. “All in good time, Colonel. All in good time. But today, we rest and lick our wounds. Tomorrow, we begin to organize the strike that will destroy the Terran Coalition.”

Strappi raised his arm and made the fist of the League. “To victory!”

Seville mimicked the motion. “To victory!”

* * *

David walked into his stateroom. He had just completed his first watch and spent some time attending to paperwork in his office before having dinner with the senior officers in the wardroom. Another long but productive day in the books. The Lion would complete its final Lawrence drive jump into the testing area at 0700 the next morning, and they would have two weeks to find as many things wrong with the ship as possible before going into combat—a tall order but one David was happy to fulfill.

After taking off his uniform to get ready for bed, he made a cup of hot tea. My reward for a hard day’s work, and it’ll help me sleep. Sitting on the couch with the hot mug between his hands, he gazed at the pictures he had put up: the one of him, his father, and his mother as well as a picture of him and Sheila, among others. Staring out at the stars in the quiet of the night, David realized that something had changed deep within him.

About six months ago was when he was alone and peering out into the vast sea of stars, beginning to feel small and not up to the task at hand. He questioned everything about himself—his decisions, feelings, and abilities. But tonight, looking out his window, he realized that those doubts had been replaced by a quiet confidence that required no boasting, ego, or validation. He felt confident that he was able, by the grace and help of God, to meet whatever the League threw at him, lead his crew into battle, and bring as many as possible home safely That was his calling, and for the first time in many years, perhaps even in his entire life, David was completely ready, committed, and confident.

In two weeks’ time, David Cohen, the Lion of Judah, and the full might of the Terran Coalition and the Saurian Empire were coming for the League of Sol and, if he was still alive, Admiral Seville. President Spencer had said Seville was wanted dead or alive, inviting comparisons to the Wild West of six hundred years ago back on Earth.

David chided himself for wishing more for the dead than alive part. A quote, which was attributed to dozens of people, though no one was really sure where it came from, came to him. “It’s not our job to judge the League’s soldiers. That’s God’s job. Ours is to arrange a face-to-face meeting as soon as possible.”

Chuckling, he was sure Sheila would have playfully yelled at him for saying that, but he would enjoy his tea and drink to the possibility of finally driving the League and its oppression out of Terran Coalition space once and for all.

THE END

Echoes of War: Book 2 – Strong and Courageous: David has won a battle, but the war is far from over. He’ll need a miracle to defeat the League of Sol once more.

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Echoes of War - Book Two - Strong and Courageous: Sneak Peak

Jacqueline Ericksen rolled out of bed as her alarm clock buzzed loudly, announcing that another day was upon her. A major in the Monrovian National Guard, she had a desk job on one of the largest military installations on the planet. Flying through her shower and putting on the uniform of the day, she was in the middle of making a bowl of cereal for herself when a soft vibrating from under the table jolted her out of the usual morning routine. She reached under the table and pulled the communication device from where it was taped to the bottom of the wood, lifting it to her ear.

“It’s a lovely day in the forest,” Erickson said into the comm.

“As it always is after a rain,” the disembodied voice on the other end of the call replied, the proper code phrase in return to hers.

“Do you have orders for me?”

“Yes. We’ve confirmed that the Terran Coalition vessel is in orbit. Your mission is to send the transmission to it, as previously agreed.”

Ericksen’s heart tightened in her chest. I always knew that this day would come because of my position, but I was hoping I’d have more time, or something would change and our leaders would see the light. Too late now for second-guessing. “I understand. Will I have any assistance?”

“We’ve got an asset on the inside that will help you. He’ll make contact in the communications room on base. We’ve manipulated the turnover schedule today, so they’ll be short by two technicians. Between the two of you, I expect you’ll be able to neutralize the remaining technician and send the transmission before the nearest military police contingent arrives,” the synthesized voice answered.

“Is there an egress route?”

After a pregnant pause on the line, the voice replied, “After getting the message out, take local transport off the base. Onsite security personnel should be confused enough not to realize what’s going on.”

That’s absolute BS, and we both know it. “Roger that. What time am I meeting my contact?”

“0930 hours. He’ll be in a green shirt and will use the code phrase ‘Nighttime is peaceful, isn’t it?’”

“I’ll be there,” Ericksen said, forcing the panic from her voice.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. But it’s the only chance we’ve got left to get help. Good luck. Walk with God,” the voice said with finality.

“Make it count, whoever in the hell you are,” Ericksen said as she hung up the comm. Clearing the cache on the device and erasing its data while she walked to her kitchen sink, she retrieved two bottles of chemicals from under it and poured them into the basin before tossing in the communications link. Mixed together, they formed a highly potent acid that would break down the plastic and metal within to the point it couldn’t be pieced back together—nothing for the secret police to trace back.

Turning around from the sink, she paused in front of a picture of her husband Gordan and herself on their wedding day. A tear formed in her eye as she fought back emotion; she found a piece of a paper and a pen to write with.

Gordan,

Whatever happens today, whatever you hear, know that I love you more than anything and that what I do, I do to save us all. Destroy this note, and I pray someday I will see you again in paradise.

– Your loving wife, Jackie

The letter written, she left it on the spot that he always dropped his commlink and wallet, confident that he would find it. And it shouldn’t cast any suspicion on him if the secret police find it before he does. Before leaving the house, she retrieved her military-issued sidearm and put it into a holster on the small of her back under her uniform. The task completed, she walked out of the house she had shared with her husband for the last five years for what was likely the last time.

Ericksen slid into her automated car, punching in the military base where she worked as a destination. After backing the car out of the driveway and putting into autopilot mode, she sat back with nothing else to do but think. Monrovia wasn’t large enough to justify the infrastructure behind helicars, and so only the very rich and powerful had those. Ordinary citizens had to sit in traffic, and she was no exception.

Reflecting on the task ahead of her, Ericksen recited her favorite passage from the Bible as her electric car zipped through the streets. “Therefore, put on the whole armor of God,” she said, “that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, stand.” Closing her eyes, she finished with a prayer. “God, help me today, give me the strength to do what I need to do, the faith to see it through, and the ability to accomplish my goal if it is your will. Amen.”

She sat quietly in the car through the rest of the drive, fighting down nerves and second thoughts, until the car rolled to a stop at the front gate of the military installation she was traveling to. A young soldier held out a hand scanner as she lowered the driver's side window.

“If you would, Major,” he said in a respectful tone.

Ericksen placed her hand on the scanner, and a moment later, her identity was confirmed. As long as they aren’t actively scanning vehicles and see my sidearm, I’m home free. The private pulled the scanner back and quickly snapped off a salute, while simultaneously triggering the gate to open. She drove through the open lane, and the gate lowered down behind her, the next car’s occupant going through the same process.

The car stopped and parked itself in an open space; suddenly, it was time to act. Ericksen opened the door and stepped out of her vehicle. She walked with purpose into the building that housed the central communications systems and the uplink they would use to talk to the CDF ship in orbit. That’s the plan anyway.

A voice from behind her startled her, causing her to whirl around. “Nighttime is peaceful, isn’t it, Major?”

Ericksen sized up the man that stood in front of her; he appeared to be in civilian attire and wore a green shirt as her handler said he would. “Yes, it is,” she said quietly. “Are you ready?”

The man nodded. “Tanned, tested, and ready, Major. Staff Sergeant Ennis Fuller, at your service.”

Ericksen nodded herself and walked off toward the area of the building that housed the uplink. Fuller fell in beside her. “Don’t let the shirt fool you, Major. I’m special operations certified. Decided it might be suspicious to have two uniforms they aren’t expecting suddenly walk in. I’m your civilian contractor today.”

The smooth assurance in Fuller’s voice, if nothing else, calmed her. Tier one operators were like human machines; whatever else could be said about them, she knew he’d do whatever it took to get the job done, including the sacrifice of his own life if it was required.

It took a few minutes to traverse the distance between the entryway to the building and the communication room that housed the transmitter. Ericksen spent that time mute, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Confronted by a security door that separated the wing they were trying to access, she walked up to it casually and pressed her index finger into the scanner; a second later, the door’s lock clicked open, and they both walked through.

“Uh, Major, tailgating isn’t allowed. That gentleman will need to scan in as well,” a young technician said to them as they walked in.

Ericksen smiled. “I’m escorting a contractor, Private.”

As the technician began to speak, Fuller brought his hand down on the man’s neck in a martial arts move, delivering a stunning blow. He quickly put the young man in a chokehold and squeezed until he stopped moving; it was over in a matter of seconds.

“He’s out cold,” Fuller said as Ericksen walked behind a console and got to work.

After keying in the proper commands and inserting the data drive containing the precious information the resistance had been able to gather, she was ready to execute. “Here goes nothing,” she commented with something approaching a smile, then brought her hand down and pressed the enter key.

All hell broke loose; alarm klaxons wailed, and a red light outside of the security door blinked. “Whiskey tango foxtrot, Major? Did you do it wrong?” Fuller asked while drawing his sidearm and racking the action.

“They must have changed the security protocols,” Ericksen said, her voice high-pitched and full of fear.

Fuller turned around and walked over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her. “Look, get it together, Major. You’ve got one job here: send that transmission. We clear on that?”

Ericksen nodded her head despite her hands shaking in terror. “Yes.” I was a supply officer, not a combatant.

“Now, you got picked because you had the right clearance, and you know how to use these things, right?”

Ericksen nodded hesitantly.

“Look, I’m a grunt. I’m going to stop the men coming here to prevent us from doing our task. You are going to finish this no matter what. Okay?” Fuller said to her in what she could tell was his attempt at being soothing.

“I’ll do my best,” Ericksen finally said, forcing herself to think about the problem and not the fear.

“Okay,” Fuller said, releasing his hold on her shoulders and turning back toward the door. “You stay put. I’m going to deal with the first wave, which ought to be a couple of rent-a-cop contractors that your dog could handle without breaking a sweat.”

Something about Fuller’s easy-going attitude, even in the face of what appeared to be certain death, disarmed Ericksen’s fear. I bet we’d be friends if we’d met before this. He seems like a decent guy. There was a trio of reports that sounded to her like a standard-issue sidearm. As she continued to input commands into the computer system, Fuller walked back into the room carrying a couple of rifles and a handful of magazines.

“Somebody got the rent-a-cops battle rifles. They should have invested in better armor,” he said with a cocky grin. “The next round, on the other hand, will be a bit more difficult. The base’s rapid reaction force should take a couple of minutes to get here, but they’ll know what they’re doing.”

Ericksen looked up from her attempts to access the communication network. “Is anyone else coming to help us?”

Fuller shook his head. “I was supposed to have three more operators with me, but our prime minister’s finest arrested them two days ago.”

“Do you think they knew we were planning this?” Ericksen asked hesitantly.

“I doubt it. Otherwise, there would have been an army here. No, they got lucky… but I’ll tell you this. It’ll take a lot more than Fitzroy’s goons to get my guys to talk. They’d die first. Now, how is it coming?”

“I’m getting there. There’s a new security protocol for using the transmitter. I’ve got to remember how to do real work,” Ericksen said with a forced grin.

“Keep pushing. I’ll deal with the hostiles,” Fuller said as he stepped back out into the corridor that lay beyond the security door, battle rifle up and at the ready.

As Ericksen worked, there were bursts of gunfire, jolting her from her task, but after the first couple of interruptions, she realized that from somewhere deep inside, nerves of steel had taken over. Breaking past the first lockout, she glanced up as Fuller thrust the door open. He quickly stepped through, then turned around long enough to fire a long burst that felled the soldier pursuing him.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, panting and quickly reloading his rifle. “Good news… they’re down four shooters. Bad news… they’ve got eight more out there. How close are you?”

“I’ll be ready to open a channel momentarily.”

“Okay, I’ll hold them off as long as I can. Are you armed?”

Ericksen nodded, reaching behind and drawing the sidearm she had in a holster in the small of her back. “Standard issue 10mm sidearm. I shoot marksman every year,” she said with pride.

“Yeah, you’ll get a chance to try that out against real people that shoot back. Not as easy as it looks.”

The door swinging open interrupted the back and forth; a soldier in full combat gear loomed in the entryway, but Fuller was quick. Before Ericksen could even send the command to her hand to raise the sidearm she held, he had shot the man three times in center mass. The soldier crumpled to the floor in a heap, but there were more beyond. He stepped to one side, braced the battle rifle to his shoulder, and leaned out, firing short bursts that killed several more of the advancing team.

Ericksen screamed as bullets slapped the wall behind her and one grazed her shoulder. Trying to drown out the battle, she focused on sending the last command to the system that would initiate a communications link with the Coalition Defense Force ship in orbit above.

****

David was in the middle of reviewing an engineering readiness report on the bridge of the Lion of Judah, when Taylor interrupted his thoughts. “Conn, communications. I’m receiving a transmission from the surface, sir. It appears to be from a member of the Monrovian National Guard. It’s garbled, but definitely directed at us.”

“Well, that’s a bit peculiar,” David said toward Aibek, who nodded his large Saurian head. “Lieutenant, put it through to my viewer.”

The flat-paneled monitor above David’s chair snapped on, the picture showing a blonde woman holding a sidearm in a classic shooter’s stance. “This is Major Jacqueline Ericksen calling the CDF ship in orbit, come in!”

“Major, this is Colonel David Cohen, CSV Lion of Judah. How can we be of assistance?”

Shouts, screams, and gunfire sounded in the background of the transmission as Ericksen looked down into the camera. “Colonel, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m transmitting you a message that contains evidence of what’s happening on Monrovia. The important part is you can’t believe what the government tells you.”

“I don’t follow, Major. What’s going on?”

“Some time ago, the government decided on a plan that was approved by a planet-wide referendum to join the League of Sol. As I’m sure you know, the League requires that all citizens pledge allegiance only to the government and to renounce any belief in a higher power. Those of us that wouldn’t comply have been systematically rounded up and imprisoned.”

As David began to form the words to reply, a burst of gunfire was heard through the commlink. A male voice shouted, “I can’t hold them back much longer!”

“There’s not much time left, Colonel. We need the Terran Coalition’s help. Our resistance movement formed too late and has been largely ineffective. They’ve rounded up everyone: Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Muslim… hell, they arrested agnostics for a while if they wouldn’t pledge loyalty. It’s all in the data file. They’re supposedly reeducating those that they rounded up, but any who refuse to give in will be executed. Please, Colonel, save us. The Terran Coalition is our last hope.”

“Major, if you’ll give me your position, I can get a shuttle of Marines down there in fifteen minutes,” David said, his face a mask of anger. Not on my watch.

“It’s no use, Colonel. We’re in the middle of one of the most heavily protected military installations on the planet. This was a one-way trip. We’ve just got to hold out for another…” Ericksen’s voice cut off as a series of shouts, and an explosion occurred off camera; gunshots rang out from close to the microphone, which David assumed was her sidearm yet again. A second later, he heard a woman’s scream, followed by a final gunshot. Moments later, the feed cut off.

“Did that just happen?” David asked, staring at Taylor. “Can we confirm the transmission was legitimate?”

“Well, sir, it came from a military installation on Monrovia. I can’t confirm the veracity of the information, of course.”

“It looked real to me, sir,” Aibek said with what looked like a concerned look for a Saurian on his face, at least in David’s brief knowledge of Saurian expressions.

“Did we get the information transmission she was talking about?” David asked.

“It was cut off mid-transmission, sir. I’ll try to put it back together.”

“You do that, Lieutenant. XO, assemble the senior staff, including Doctor Hayworth and Major Merriweather, in the conference room in thirty minutes. I want to discuss our options.”

“Sir, should we contact the government and ask them what’s going on?” Aibek asked.

“No, not until we’ve had a chance to review what Lieutenant Taylor puts together and discuss the situation among ourselves.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get everyone together.”

“Thank you, XO,” David said, closing his eyes for a moment before standing. “XO has the conn,” David walked off the bridge, pulling his cover off as he passed the threshold to the passageway beyond. There’s no way in God’s green universe I’m going to allow a planet to round up and execute millions of innocents; we pledged a long time ago that it would never happen again. Whatever it takes, we will stop this, so help me God.

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Acknowledgments

To Dad - thanks for all the many hours of great stories from your time in the Navy. They were a wonderful source of ideas!

Dave - thank you for the mentorship, advice and when needed, directness in helping me improve my writing and this book in particular.

To all those who have helped make a dream that started twenty years ago a reality; thank you for your help, support and encouragement—you know who you are.

I would be remiss if I did not thank the servicemembers of the US military that I have had the honor of working alongside for many years. Thank you for ensuring a society in which I can write the novel I choose to, the way I choose to. Above all, thank you for your service.

Finally, I believe it fitting to thank God for giving me the ability to write this novel and bring this story to life.

Breach of Faith - Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Breach of Peace by Daniel Gibbs and Gary T. Stevens

Copyright © 2019-2021 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibbs website at www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

3D Art by Benoit Leonard

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact info@eotp.net.

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Both available FREE, along with exclusive updates and information about upcoming projects, only at
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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Prologue

LS Marat

Unclaimed System, Neutral Space

3 August 2460

The sheer scope of space can drive a thinking being mad. It is fundamentally a void, an airless vacuum of emptiness save for the occasional specks of gases known as stars, many orbited by insignificant microscopic grains of matter—planets, moons, planetoids, asteroids—forged eons before in the furnaces of the very first stars. Even the time frames are vast, defying mortal comprehension. A planet, from its inception, will orbit a star an uncountable number of times before said star reaches the end of its fuel reserves.

It is exhilarating, humbling, terrifying. It makes a person feel like an insignificant microbe in a vast ocean. The very fact of this existence could hollow one out and breed the deepest fatalism, an inescapable nihilism.

Fortunately, for men like Admiral Alec Hartford, there were ways to cope with the soul-blasting emptiness.

Hartford was a severe man not given to frivolities. Every act, every breath, had to be justified for the cause, for the purpose that had united much of mankind and would, in due time, he was satisfied, encompass their wayward cousins in the Sagittarius Arm.

Decades and thousands of light-years ago, Hartford sat in a room in the community school as an adolescent, learning about the galaxy and humanity's destiny. Under the benevolent leadership of the League of Sol, humanity and any socially compatible species it encountered would inherit the stars. The socially superior model of the League would be brought to those cultures and societies who did not yet enjoy the unity of purpose that had governed the core of mankind since the rise of the World Society in the first century of the Enlightened Era, the century known to the unenlightened as the twenty-first century of the common or Christian era. There would be no more hunger or suffering. No longer would superstition and fear rule. A galaxy united was the goal of the Society and Hartford's sole purpose.

To gain Paradise… there were no means, no cost, that would be shirked.

The vidscreen in Hartford's stateroom shifted at the press of a key. A vessel appeared, a gray-hulled thing designed for function and not aesthetics. The boxy shape was fitting, as it was nothing more than a box, a container for goods strapped to a plasma drive and an environmental system to sustain the handful of crew who drove it through the void. Solid beams of pale light gripped the vessel, the recognizable component for the streams of gravitons holding the ship in formation with another. "Another vessel," murmured Hartford. His voice betrayed him to be New Anglian, his accent from Southeastern England but with a slight drawl. "Another step."

A tone sounded from his desk. Another tap of a key, and the brown-bearded, pale countenance of Captain Nikos Zervakos appeared on the vidscreen. "Admiral." Zervakos was Earth-born, from the hills of Boeotia in Greece. The paleness of his skin suggested that he had not experienced unfiltered sunlight in decades. "Our Marines have successfully subdued the crew of the vessel. The capture is complete."

"Very good, Captain Zervakos. Your judgment proved superb. The risk paid off."

"Yes, sir." Zervakos showed little sign of appreciation for the compliment. The man was a professional about the entire thing, and Hartford appreciated it. "Engineering reports the drive will be ready to take us back to base in ten minutes. All scanners are clear, and we have confirmed the vessel did not successfully transmit a distress signal."

"Then the device is working as planned. Quite good. Take us back to Pluto Base when ready, Captain."

"Aye, sir." Zervakos disappeared.

Hartford considered his blank vidscreen for a moment before calling up one final image, a message from Fleet Admiral Pierre Seville, commander of the League's Expeditionary Forces Sagittarius Arm, the architect of the war by which the divisive reactionaries of the Terran Coalition would be ground into defeat. Seville was in charge of a grand plan to turn their enemies' sentimentalism and war-weariness against them, and when successful—Hartford would not allow himself to use the qualifier "if"—it would significantly undermine their enemies.

But Seville was not a man to trust victory to just one act. Hartford's project would soon bear fruit as well. His old mentor was counting on that as part of his strategy to finally bring victory over the Terrans.

As always, we are just gears in the great machine of Society, Hartford considered. And that is why we will prevail in the end. The individual may fail, the gear may be stripped, but the machine will go on. A pity our enemies do not yet understand that.

* * *

Minutes remained before Miri Gaon met her doom.

The necessities imposed upon her by her past had prompted the meticulous planning the quiet woman was now enacting, even as her comrades on the Kensington Star remained docile for their conquerors. They were confined to their quarters by the guns of the League Marines and would not work up the nerve to pose any threat.

Perhaps they would fight harder if they knew for sure what awaited them. The League's socialization camps were a new take on the old totalitarian idea of the reeducation camp, where an individual could be pounded down by psychological manipulation and physical control until they accepted what the State wished them to. Miri knew firsthand what they were like. She was not interested in a repeat experience—although if the League found her, it would be an improvement upon her fate.

She stood in the cramped little quarters she called her own, at one end of the Kensington Star's living spaces. Her skin was a slightly pale bronze tone, the paleness from a relative lack of exposure to UV rays inside the confines of the Kensington Star and similarly shielded space habitats and stations. Her brown hair was cut neck-length, and an old scar from her past life marked her temple, just above her hairline. Her pale-green jumpsuit, marked with the ship's name on the back, was standard for the crew of such a vessel, and like many of the same kind, it was made for everything from standard operations to providing a functional underlayer for an EVA suit.

She was also alone, which was by design. Technically, her crew rating would not have afforded her private quarters, but hers were right beside the waste circulators. The unpleasant smell and the constant noise of the machinery made them undesirable for everyone else, and her volunteering to take that space relieved her peers of the need to draw straws. None of them realized she had her reasons to take the room and keep some privacy.

After checking to be sure she'd packed away what few things she needed to keep, Miri gave a last look to the smelly, dingy chamber and its uncomfortable cot before lowering herself through the floor plate she had so carefully loosened months before for just this occasion. She dropped to a crouch inside the crawl space that curved under the corner of her quarters. The stench was heavy—old Tomlin was right about the leak in the processor. But it couldn't be helped. She had to get to her destination immediately.

Miri followed the dark crawl space toward the port access airlock, imagining the layout of the decks and the route she needed to take while she counted down the seconds. The lack of light was in some ways good practice for what was to come. Her plan was a desperate one, certainly, but the moment the League ship pulled along the crippled merchant ship, it was her only chance of escape.

She was not a slight woman, nor very brawny or big, making the crawl space a challenge but not a severe one. Physical training and practice built her figure for speed and agility, and that was about to come in handy.

In the darkness, she reached what she knew to be the bulkhead on the portside access way running down the ship. The crawl space was meant to terminate twenty meters down, but that would take her to the engineering area, and they would likely be guarding that heavily. Instead, she gently felt around in the dark until she found the tool she'd left there months before, an autospanner, which she put to work on the bolts holding the plate in. Her heart raced faster with each bolt. Her pre-loosening was, for obvious reasons, only superficial, requiring several seconds each before the whirring device finished removing each bolt.

After eight bolts in all, the plate came loose. She caught it with a free hand so it wouldn't clatter and carefully moved it away, allowing the light of the access way to shine into the crawl space. She checked for signs of League Marines and found none. She set the plate down and crawled out. The plate would stay where it was. By the time the League boarders realized what had happened, they would be in another system, and she would be, relatively speaking, safe.

The airlock was ten meters astern of where she came out of the crawl space. It was a well-used thing, with a storage locker of EVA suits beside it. Miri moved with practiced efficiency. First, she divested herself of the gear she would need to have on the outside of her suit. Then the blue-painted suit's turn came, and she slid into it and sealed it up, helmet included. She used both the HUD interface and the manual reader to check her breathing air. With it maxed out, she would have some time, but just in case, she attached a second tank to her belly beside the rest of the gear she was carrying.

As a last measure, Miri grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and opened the inner door of the airlock. She stepped in and let the airlock close behind her.

It was the moment of truth. When she opened the outer airlock hatch, it would trigger an alarm on the bridge. If she left too soon, the League would halt the jump and come for her and would all too quickly find out who she was. If she went too late, she would be drawn into the wormhole their drives generated. Either they would bring her with them to their destination, or she would be in the wormhole's maw when it closed, killing her instantly. Suffice to say, neither outcome was desirable.

Miri drew in a quiet breath and willed her heart rate to slow. To maximize her chances, she needed to maintain a slow breathing rate. There were drugs that would have aided the process, but the circumstances forbade their application. She would have to do it on her own.

That thought distracted her until the crucial moment when she felt the ship's acceleration pick up. She was confident it was from the towing vessel accelerating for a wormhole jump. She yanked down the lever to release the airlock door and smashed the button beside it. The airlock door opened like an iris. The vacuum of open space sucked the atmosphere inside the airlock out within a second. The decompression effect pulled her with it, as was her intent, giving her a burst of velocity to carry her away from the ships. What she'd expected but not desired was that the air escaping the airlock chamber pushed her into a spin. She tumbled into the airless void, rushing away from her captured ship. The spinning effect kept her from getting more than glimpses of the League cruiser and the captured Kensington Star as the former pulled the latter with it into a generated wormhole.

Once they were gone, Miri took hold of the fire extinguisher and started spraying its flame-retarding chemicals into the void around her. She did so carefully and, after a minute of calculated bursts, arrested the velocity of her spin so that she was no longer subjected to the disorientation of it. This task accomplished, she triggered the small transponder built into the suit and the more powerful transmitter she was carrying with her, raising the chance that a ship in the area would detect her and pick her up. She glanced at her air level and the suit's estimate of how long she had. With her backup air tank, she had two days before she would run out.

The prospect of two days alone in the vacuum of space was daunting. Minds did not do well when such an experience was forced upon them. To be alone in the infinite black of the void, with naught but the pinprick of light of a star millions of kilometers distant, ruined minds. Such an experience snapped them under the strain of that constant reminder of just how vast space was and how small and insignificant a single being was against that void. Even if rescued, Miri had to face the prospect that she might be mad by the time said rescue came.

The consideration raised her heart rate and her breathing with it. She focused to bring it back down. From within the recesses of her oldest recollections, she found the memory of songs her mother sang to her as a little girl. Miri sang quietly to herself in her isolation, waiting to see if she had saved herself or merely delayed death and made it a lonely one, at that.

1

ISV Shadow Wolf

New Hathwell System, League of Sol

3 August 2460

"Cutter's definitely coming for us."

At that report from his executive officer, James Henry could only sigh at the utter predictability of the League of Sol's bureaucracy. New Hathwell was just one small colony among many the League had planted in its foothold in Sagittarius, but even here, the League kept all of the accouterments of power its system seemed to thrive on. One could set his watch by them, which, Henry mused, was the point.

Light from the plotting holotank in front of his seat played over Henry's face, a grid of gold and crimson light over his dark skin. The blinking crimson dot that lit up over his forehead drew closer to the center of the display. He didn't need to hear his piloting crew confirm the numbers he'd already crunched in his head—they would intercept the Shadow Wolf about five minutes before they were far enough from New Hathwell and its gravity well to initiate their Lawrence drive.

Seated to his right, at a control panel that monitored ship systems, Tia Nguyen gave Henry a concerned look. "I told you this would happen," she warned. Her skin had a bronze tint to the faint yellowish tone that reflected her ancestral origins in East Asia, just as Henry's tone testified to the ancestors who hailed from the continent of Africa. Gray eyes met his brown ones with irritation and a degree of challenge. "And we don't have a legitimate export license."

"There's no such thing as a legitimate export license for what we're carrying. Not with the League," Henry reminded her. In the cargo hold of the Shadow Wolf were containers loaded with lithium ore mined from New Hathwell. While not always rare on a planetary level—on Earth, it was one of the more abundant elements—at the scope of an interstellar stage, with the voracious demands that an interstellar economy could have, lithium was much rarer. "But don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Tia frowned at him. "You're telling me not to worry about the League catching us with a load of export-restricted cargo? They'd send all of us to a gulag for that."

"And throw poor Oskar out an airlock." The lilt of Cera McGinty rose from the pilot’s seat. The diminutive Irishwoman, from the independent world of Connaught, kept her eyes on the controls. "Just say the word, Cap, and I'll show th'sassenach what my girl can do."

"The last thing I want to do is let the League know about the Wolf's fusion drives," Henry said. "And there's no point in running otherwise. Trigger deceleration. Signal we're standing by for customs inspection."

Cera's face betrayed her worry, but she obeyed.

"Time to intercept is now ten minutes," Tia said. "Do you mind telling us lesser mortals what you've got in mind, or should I get down on my knees and pray?"

Henry looked at her with amusement. "Says the agnostic."

"Retorts the lapsed Methodist," Tia replied.

"I wouldn't call myself lapsed. Vidia thinks I'm just spiritually scarred." He stood. "Let Oskar know to take Brigitte and put up the quarantine sign. Just in case."

"I'll inform the good doctor now," Tia said, worry still in her voice. "Jim…"

Henry looked back to her from the hatch leading out of the Shadow Wolf's control bridge. At his height of nearly two meters, he could be imposing, if a little on the lanky side. But there was nothing intimidating about the confident grin. "It's handled. Don't worry, and let's not give them a reason to be suspicious, eh?"

"Right," Tia said breathily. "We're just a perfectly innocent cargo ship, nothing suspicious or wrong about us. Just the load of export-banned ore worth a fortune."

"That's the spirit." Henry left the bridge at that point. The hatch slid closed behind him.

* * *

The League’s customs cutter was not an impressive ship by any means. Thirty meters long and eight meters wide, with just two internal decks, the little vessel was shaped somewhat like a supersonic airliner without wings. The cutter was no match for a torpedo skiff, let alone any real warship. Even an armed merchantman stood a good chance of turning it into a cloud of debris, if the owner was willing to risk the wrath of the League.

It went without saying that the vast majority were not.

The Shadow Wolf had a certain aesthetic charm of its own. At one hundred and thirty-three meters' length and thirty-two meters' width, it did have a rough, boxy shape, but the four landing struts gave it the look of having legs when lowered, and there was an almost lupine shape to the control bridge jutting from the front. It was painted with a shadowy dark-gray hue. The top of the hull included the housing for the atmospheric stabilizers that helped the ship burn through the atmosphere for planetary landing, while the bottom of the ship had takeoff-thruster ports for getting the vessel out of a gravity well. Both port and starboard sides had the benefit of large airlock loading hatches and man-sized airlocks for docking with smaller craft.

The League cutter pulled up to the rear port hatch. From that distance, anyone on the Shadow Wolf could look out a port-side transparent alloy viewing port and see the lithe shape of the cutter approach, its hull alabaster in color and the League's emblem in full color on the main body of the ship. The sun outline with a clenched fist was not the most pacific of symbols, but it did the job, conveying the League's determination, will, and readiness to act even violently to further the goals and purpose of Society.

When the airlock opened, Henry was waiting in the presence of one of his crew. Like Henry, Felix Rothbard hailed from the Terran Coalition, but there was no visible sign of that origin, nor would it have particularly mattered, given the independent nature of their ship.

The Caucasian man was stockier than Henry, two inches shorter, and sporting a thin beard of wheat-colored hair that matched the hair on his head. Both wore crew jumpsuits typical for that kind of ship, dull-gray outfits with cargo pockets on arms and legs as well as hips, all capable of being sealed by zipper. The jumpsuits’ collars looked rigid, necessary for them to seal correctly with a helmet in case of an emergency. While it was no EVA suit, it could function as the layer of clothes underneath such a suit and provide limited protection in case of atmosphere loss.

"You know what you're doing, right, Jim?" Felix asked.

"I've dealt with customs before," Henry answered. "I know how to talk to them."

"They say that hell hath no fury like a League bureaucrat who's been crossed," Felix noted.

Henry blinked at him. "I thought it was 'a woman scorned'?"

"It used to be."

The light above the airlock door flashed from red to yellow. The Shadow Wolf's environmental systems were cycling breathable atmosphere into the chamber. After about thirty seconds, the light turned green. The panel beside the airlock lit up to inform them that someone had opened the outer door.

"Isn't it rude to open someone's outer door for them?" Felix asked.

"Not if you're a customs agent."

Seconds later, the inner door opened. A man in a dark-gray jumpsuit appeared. Emblazoned over the heart was the seal of the League Secretariat of Trade and Resources' Trade Enforcement Bureau. It was essentially the same as the League emblem but with a stylized T and R to either side of the fist. He had a faintly bronze complexion, the kind people used to associate with the Mediterranean, with a shaved face and close-cut brown hair.

Henry didn't let himself curse, but he was worried. The man wasn't just any League customs officer but a new customs officer. All kitted up, full of piss and vinegar and ready to prove they can boot-stomp merchants' faces with the best of 'em. Henry started to wonder if he shouldn't have had Cera gun the drives as she'd asked.

Too late to reconsider.

"I am Trade Inspector Third Class Orlando Montaine," the young man declared. Henry figured he hadn't sounded like that since he was a fresh lieutenant. "Your vessel is under inspection by order of the Trade Enforcement Bureau for suspicion of violating the Trade Secretariat's export restrictions."

"I see."

"I require access to your holds."

"Of course." Henry ignored the look he got from Felix. "This way."

From the airlock door, they traveled astern to a hatch. Henry noted the air-tight sealant looked loose along the right side. He would have to get Brigitte on that later, if they had a later.

After a flight of metal stairs to the middle deck of the Shadow Wolf, they emerged into a corridor leading to more hatches. "Your vessel is a Holden-Nagata Mark VII Medium Cargo Hauler, is it not?" Montaine asked in an officious, clipped tone.

"It is," Henry said.

"So you have six standard holds. Yet you are passing by the stern ones. I consider this suspicious."

Henry sighed and led him back to a hatch they had just passed. He tapped a key at the panel and brought up the status screen. "We had a micro-asteroid strike a couple of months ago while hauling ore from the Alpha Trifid Belt Refinery," Henry explained. "Hulled our two stern holds. I haven't been able to get an atmospheric patch applied yet."

Montaine considered the screen. He pulled a handheld scanner out and held it up to the door. As Henry expected, it verified that there was no atmosphere in a hold that was empty. "Take me to the other one."

Henry sighed. The temptation to smack this twit revived itself. But he didn't feel like dodging League ships whenever he was moving around the Trifid Nebula region, so he complied.

Once Montaine was satisfied with the status of their two rear holds, they journeyed to the mid-port hold. Once inside, the crates of plastic were visible, unstacked but filling the hold. He walked down the nearby metal steps to the ground floor.

Henry followed and waited for the inevitable.

One scan, and Montaine smirked at him. "We have a problem, Captain. Or rather, you do." He tapped a key, and the top of the crate slid open, revealing raw ore. "This is lithium ore with a composite match from the New Hathwell Lithium Refinery. This is an export-restricted substance and is banned from export by the Secretariat of Trade." He looked back to Henry with an even wider grin. "I now have the authority to order your vessel impounded and you and your crew arrested for violation of export laws."

"Before you do that, you might want to speak to your superior."

The triumphant look on the young officer's face shifted slightly. Triumph became leavened by confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I want to speak to your superior."

Montaine's confusion grew. "What could you possibly gain by that? My superior will merely confirm your guilt! Why should I bother him to burn his way out here for such a silly purpose?"

"Oh, please." Henry crossed his arms. "You're a Trade Inspector Third Class. Bureau rules stipulate that you be under the supervision of no less than a First Class Inspector until your promotion to Second Class. I know New Hathwell isn't the busiest office for the Bureau, so the only First Class Inspector is the Chief of Inspections for New Hathwell. He's on your cutter, and I want to see him. Now."

"You have no right to order me…"

"And you can't order our arrest or impounding on your own. You need his approval," Henry retorted. "I will not surrender myself or my ship unless your chief orders it."

"Fine," snarled Montaine. "Be a fool. You'll learn your lesson in the socialization camp for wasting his time."

* * *

By the time they returned to the airlock, Felix was joined by another of the crew. Vidiadhar "Vidia" Andrews was a wide man, though not portly, with a ready, toothy smile. His dark hair was arranged in cornrows, and his beard was a big bunch of fuzz on his chin. His paled dark skin was from mixed African and Indian ancestry. He was in a jumpsuit as well. "Ah, Captain, I heard we had visitors," he said, his accent distinctly Anglo-Caribbean from New Antilla.

"That we do, Vidia," Henry answered while Montaine stepped through the airlock.

"He found the ore?"

"He found the ore."

Even Vidia's smile thinned at that. He spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Yanik has his toy ready. He wanted you to know that."

As entertaining as the thought was of letting the big Saurian greet Montaine's return through the airlock with a hail of plasma bolts from Yanik's treasured heavy plasma gun, Henry answered with only a nod.

When Montaine returned, still purple in the face and snarling, he was joined by a big fellow in the same uniform but with five centimeters on Henry, every bit as broad as Vidia. A bit of a paunch to his belly indicated he lived quite well for an official assigned to a distant, struggling colony. "Captain James Henry of the Shadow Wolf, correct?" His accent was North American but not distinct to any region.

"Yes, sir. Chief Inspector Donner, I believe?"

"You remember." Donner nodded. "Good."

Montaine finally spoke, as if he could no longer restrain himself. "Sir, this man's ship is loaded with lithium ore from our mines. You may scan it for yourself if you wish, but my readings…"

"…are quite accurate, yes," said Donner. He never looked toward Montaine. "Captain, this is a grave matter. I hope you have a good explanation."

"If you will accompany me to my office, Chief Inspector, I believe everything will be made clear."

"All right." Donner glanced toward his frustrated subordinate. "Wait here, Montaine."

"But, sir, are you sure…"

"I will be perfectly safe," Donner insisted. "The Captain here knows to lay a hand on me is to guarantee our fleet and agents will hound him for the rest of his miserable life. I will get this cleared up, and we will get on with it."

"If you say so, sir," muttered the disbelieving Montaine.

With that, Henry led them toward the bow of the ship. His office was built into the hull just astern of the bridge, across the corridor from his personal quarters. The door slid open at the touch of his thumb to the access panel. The inside was not too large, with only a meter or so of clearance space on either side of the plain plastic desk. The wall nearest the door had an old, Saurian War-era pulse rifle mounted on it, a family weapon brought home by one of Henry's forebearers.

Donner glanced only briefly at the rifle before he followed Henry in.

The League bureaucrat waited patiently while Henry stepped around his desk and knelt behind it, facing the shelf. With quiet diligence, he opened his captain's safe with a metallic shunk.

When he stood to full height, he had with him a single box that smelled of a tangy, tropical scent with a fine synth-silk ribbon around it of crimson with gold trim. He set the box in Donner's big hands. The League customs agent slid the fabric off and opened the box. Nestled in brilliant-green felt backed by careful padding was a bottle with a dark-red liquid inside. The bottle's label depicted a cluster of purple grapes with the name Cunhal Port emblazoned around them.

"A gift from Minister Vitorino," Henry said. "He's always out to promote Lusitania's wines."

"They are truly exquisite. Cunhal Port? 2489 on the old calendar? A good year, or so I've heard." Donner's eyes twinkled. "The good minister has been a valuable trading partner, I am told by the Secretariat. Our relations with Lusitania are quite vital."

"So you are told, I'm sure."

"Yes." Donner eyed the wine again and smiled widely. "Certainly a handsome gift, Captain."

"It is." Henry leaned against his desk. He met Donner's eye and matched his smile. "I'm sure the minister would be flattered to hear you say that. And I'm sure he would love to handle this misunderstanding about the cargo he ordered from New Hathwell. Sadly, he isn't here. As things stand, it seems my ship is to be impounded, and I'm going to be arrested. While acting on the minister's behalf." Henry let his words sink in for a moment. "That means everything aboard will be inventoried and cataloged and probably seized by the State." Henry tapped the wine bottle. "Including this magnificent wine. The minister will be very displeased. I'm sure you'd hate to see that happen."

"Indeed not." Donner nodded. "I would be loath to report to the Trade Secretary that I had slighted a minister of the Lusitanian government. No less the Trade Minister himself." He quietly closed the box. "This is a terrible misunderstanding. Certainly, an exception was filed on behalf of Minister Vitorino that was lost by carelessness. I shall clear the matter up immediately, Captain."

"My thanks to you for your cooperation, Chief Inspector," Henry replied, nodding. "And I'm sure the minister will feel the same way when I tell him of your assistance with this issue."

"Cooperation with our fellow humans is the cornerstone of the League," Donner declared. "I am always ready to assist with these matters." With that, Donner stepped out of the office, the box with the wine secured firmly in his left arm.

Henry closed his safe, verified the lock, and left his office to find Tia standing there.

"So are we going to the gulag?"

"Nope," he said. "Have Cera get ready to burn us out to the limit. Normal burn, no need for theatrics."

"This was cutting it way too close, Jim. You're going to give us ulcers."

He shrugged as if there was nothing he could do about it. "Just the cost of business, Tia."

2

The count read ten hours on Miri Gaon's EVA suit. Her oxygen was down to fifty percent. She was consuming it a little more quickly than she'd imagined.

Her stomach gurgled, stimulating feelings of the last time it had felt empty in that way, fifteen years in the past in the League resocialization camp on the occupied world of Lowery.

Lowery, a member world of the Terran Coalition, fell to League forces that year. The League enacted its usual occupation plans, sending all of the residents into the camps while their homes and business were taken over by League authorities and military forces. Only after "successful socialization" were they to be released to be integrated into the Society's command economy and system.

Rationing in the camp was severe enough, but food was scarce after the planet's economy shut down from the process. The League used its soldiers on the farms, of course, and eventually camp labor, but between sabotage by owners and incompetence by authorities, it wasn't nearly enough. A world with food self-sufficiency was reduced to reliance on food imports from other League worlds, and the camps were the lowest priority. People went hungry. One thousand calories in a day was virtually a feast day, and the work had to continue. Society would not tolerate inactivity. Its entire mission was that everyone must work for the betterment of Society. So even the starving had to put in the requisite eight hours of labor and six hours of socialization classes and lectures. Shirking meant demerits, which meant not getting the "socialized" status that meant freedom from the camps and restoration to a home and a regular job.

Demerits also meant punishments, public shaming, neighbors and friends forced to strike or mock each other to avoid their own demerits, solitary confinement, and for the genuinely defiant, exile back to the Orion Arm and the heart of League space.

Miri had a few demerits early on. They were necessary. Virtually everyone got them, and those who didn't stood out, not in a pleasant way. The occupation and camp authorities were suspicious of those who didn't get demerits. They ended up getting picked up by the internal security forces. She knew better, because she’d been trained to know better.

So she got her demerits, endured the punishments, and presented the image she needed the League to see: an average Coalition citizen of Jewish descent, somewhat observant and of moderate political opinion. Someone who, after a few demerits and a couple of months in camp, would break down. Someone who would accept the truth as told by the League and be willing to become a loyal member of Society.

That meant better rations, including, as it turned out, some pretty good cuts of pork and bacon sandwiches in the morning. After all, a good member of Society didn't waste food because of some ancient superstitious dietary law.

It explained why Miri couldn't stomach pork anymore.

"I don't want to remember those days," she murmured. While everything she did had paid off, she’d paid a terrible price. And the things she did to get that far, to get where she needed to be…

No. She didn't want to think about it. If she did, she might start questioning whether she deserved to be rescued.

3

Among the stars in the vicinity of the Trifid Nebula, TN-22198 was one of the least interesting. A B4-class star with only two planets—a distant small Uranus-class gas giant and a volcanic "hell planet" just inside the empty "Goldilocks" zone—and three distinct asteroid belts, indicating that the system might have had more planets if its development had been slightly different. The asteroid belts had some unusual minerals in them, of course, but so did the asteroid belts and moons of systems with actual habitable planets, where supporting and maintaining mining operations would have been far easier to sustain.

For the moment, TN-22198 had an additional orbiting object, however, as the Shadow Wolf kept her lazy distant orbit of the blue star.

Aboard her, hooting laughter could be heard. The crew had gathered in the mess hall for a meal that had quickly turned into an explanation of their close call with the League of Sol's customs officers. Felix finished laughing, took a sip from the bottle of beer in his hand, and continued, "I thought that little turd's eyes were going to pop from his head, he was so pissed!"

"Little pissant wanker," Brigitte Tam'si grumbled. She was one of two former citizens of the League aboard ship, descended from Congolese colonists of a world back in the Orion Arm, who in turn had some of their number relocated to one of the new League colonies in the Sagittarius Arm. Her skin was a shade darker than Henry's, and her dark hair was arranged in cornrows around a short, dyed Mohawk of purple at the top of her head. It was an outward example of her rebelliousness against not just the League but anyone who would place demands on her appearance. Her accent was more African than English, defying her choice of English swear words.

"I hear that," another voice declared. Pieter Hartzog's accent sounded Dutch to some ears, which was understandable as his first language, Afrikaans, was descended from Dutch, marking him as a son of the Boer colony world of New Oranje. One of the independent colonies farther Rimward, toward the Omega Nebula, New Oranje was a settlement of the broader exodus from Earth in the twenty-second century. They still maintained a fierce neutrality and an even more passionate suspicion of offworlders that often bordered on paranoia. That Hartzog was enjoying the company of the other crew betrayed him as having a more tolerant attitude than the vast majority of his countrymen. He was a lean man, clad in a green engineer's jumpsuit, with sandy-blond hair that hadn't seen a comb in years and haughty blue eyes. "Captain, why did we let that… that little jerk come aboard in the first place? I had the drives ready. Cera could've out-burned them, easy."

"Because Minister Vitorino is our best-paying customer," Henry pointed out. "And he wouldn't be our customer anymore if we were permanently banned from League space."

"Especially since they know we work for him and would cut off his other ventures as well," Oskar Kiderlein said. The oldest member of the crew, with dark-brown hair graying at the temples, Oskar spoke with a faint German accent. Unlike the rest of them, even Brigitte, he hailed from Earth itself, the long-lost homeworld for those born among the human-colonized worlds of Sagittarius. "And they would. Plus, they would hunt us clear across space."

"For a hold of lithium." Tia shook her head.

"It is not about the lithium. It would be for crossing the State and defying the duties of Society," Oskar clarified. "It is hard for Sagittarians like yourselves to understand how things work back in the Orion Arm, in the League…"

"There's not much to understand," said Felix. "They're a bunch of socialists. Socialism's been about controlling people for over six hundred years now. We even have them in the Coalition."

To that, Oskar barked out a laugh. "You do not know the meaning of the word 'control' if you compare those of your worlds who promote socialism to the League. If your Coalition's Christian Socialists or Democratic Socialists ran the League, it would be a nicer place. I would’ve never left. There would be no war. Whatever their economic policies, they still see you as an individual sapient being with rights, privileges, agency. To the League, an individual is just part of the whole, a gear in a machine. Society is what matters. Society has rights. Individuals only have duties, and it is the individual who must bow to the needs of Society… or whatever the commissioners say are the needs of Society."

"Well, isn't there some truth to that?" Tia asked. "I mean, we all have some kind of obligation to society as a whole, right? Especially to our neighbors, since things we do can impact their lives as well. We can't just do what we want and ignore the consequences it might have for other people. That's why Earth got so screwed up in the twenty-first century."

"There's a lot of reasons Earth got screwed up," Brigitte said. "The World Society was one of them."

"Maybe, but it was also a reaction to other problems." Tia picked at her food absentmindedly then glanced toward Felix, who was saying nothing. "Problems, including the domination of the economy by an international oligarchy of corporations and banks. The Society was formed to fight that oligarchy."

"That's what the history books claim, but I don't believe a word of it," Brigitte hissed. "You're just buying League lies."

"To hell with the League!" Tia shouted. "I don't give a damn what they say. But it's not just the League that…"

Tia was interrupted by the sharp sound of a spoon smacking against a plastic glass. All eyes turned to Henry. "You all know the problem with talking politics," he reminded them.

"This isn't just about politics," Brigitte said. "It's about…" She stopped at Henry's sharp look.

"Right. I know. It's about more. It always is. And that's why we don't talk politics during the crew dinner." Henry dug his spoon into the pile of peas on his plate. "No politics…"

"…no religion," intoned most of the others, save Vidia and Felix.

"Thank you."

There was no further discussion for the rest of the meal.

* * *

After dinner, Henry walked to the control bridge at the front of the ship. Inside were the last two crew members, those whose turn it was to stand watch during the crew dinner. Nearest to him, in Tia's usual seat, was a young woman of bronze complexion in a blue all-purpose jumpsuit, her skin paled slightly, as any long-term spacer's was. Her brown hair was halfway down her back and pulled into a braid. She was on the tall side, not quite 1.8 meters, with a lean athletic build that took nothing away from gentle feminine curves. "Piper," he said.

Piper Lopez nodded. Her light-brown eyes looked up to him on a face with a shape more ovular than round. "Captain," she said in a toned soprano and slightly Spanish-sounding accent. A crystal hung from a silver necklace around her neck, given to her by her grandmother from the Tohono O'odham side of her family.

"How's our course look?" he asked.

"Just two more jumps to Lusitania, so we'll be burning in by the end of next watch," Piper said, confident in her astrogation skills. "And no sign of any pursuit, if you were worried about it."

"He wasn't," a rough voice stated. Seated forward of Piper, at the ship’s piloting controls, was Yanik S'srish. The blue-toned Saurian was at nearly two meters in height and broader than any human. Unlike many Saurians, he still had the vestigial tail that members of his species were born with, as his religion didn't involve removing the tail as a sign of devotion. Between his size and the tail, he barely fit into the control station even while sitting farther back than any of the others. "Were he worried otherwise, the captain would never have stopped for the dinner until we arrived at Lusitania."

"You know me so well, Yanik."

"Your patterns are familiar to me," Yanik replied while his right yellow eyes blinked twice. "Which means they may be familiar to others as well. You may wish to adjust."

"I'll take it under advisement, Yanik. Felix and Brig should be up soon to relieve you. I'll be in my office for a while if anything happens."

"Understood."

* * *

There were many universal constants—gravity, electromagnetism, light, insincere politicians, and paperwork. Henry suspected the last two might have been linked.

Granted, this wasn't like his time in the Coalition Defense Forces, where any command position demanded daily reports, after-action reports, finalized after-action reports, requisition reports, and all other paperwork used by the bureaucratic machine to annoy the men and women out in the field. As an independent captain, Henry could set his own paperwork requirements on his ship, which he kept to a minimum.

But that didn't eliminate the need. The Shadow Wolf might have been independent, but he still had to file all sorts of paperwork with the governments controlling the places his ship hauled cargo to and from. Some governments were better than others.

Lusitania was roughly ordinary by his standard. Slightly less paperwork than the Coalition—granted, that was due to the wartime economic laws—and far less than the League and other more authoritarian statist governments in Sagittarius, but more than if he visited New Oranje, H'taka, or Galt. Having the Minister of Trade as his customer meant Henry was less likely to get in trouble for an error, but Lusitania's semi-authoritarian government ensured plenty of work for its bureaucrats. His manifest and invoices had to be accurate to ensure they collected their due in custom duties, which even a Minister of Trade could not waive. And then there were the itemized requests to the service companies at the spaceport to ensure the proper refueling, re-airing, and re-victualing of the ship.

In the middle of calculating fuel costs for his invoice, Henry glanced up when his door's chime went off. Since the hatch and bulkhead were soundproofed, he couldn't call out for them to enter. Instead, he tapped a key on his desk. The door slid open, and Vidia entered. "Dinner was… interestin', wasn't it?" he asked.

Henry gave him a sarcastic look.

Vidia smiled gently. "Your rules make sense. Otherwise… I think it might take a new manifestation to figure out how to keep the peace."

"That's what I get for combining a libertarian, a thwarted socialist revolutionary, and a militant former League rebel in one crew," Henry remarked. "And a New Oranjer."

"Don't forget the Saurian draft dodger and the League military deserter," Vidia added, still smiling. "And I'll point out that the libertarian is your friend and not a hired hand."

"I know it rubs Tia the wrong way," Henry began. "But we needed the help, and Felix knows ship operations."

"She doesn't like bein' likened to the League, for obvious reasons. Truth be told, I think she hates them more than Brigitte or Felix."

"I would agree, and I'll even say she's earned it as much as we have." Henry set his pen down and directed his full attention to Vidia. "But you're not here to talk to me about dinner, are you?"

Vidia shook his head. "I can see it in you, Jim. Ever since that close call at New Hathwell. You're thinkin' bad thoughts again."

There was a thin edge to the resulting smile on Henry's face. "I can't help but wonder about Montaine. Two thoughts. One, is he a boy scout or power-hungry? I mean, he's got that bright look the young and idealistic always get, but he loved the idea of throwing us into a gulag, and that tells me he likes having the power."

"With the League, I think those two are one and the same. As Oskar said, to them, it's all about the whole, not the man."

"And that means taking joy in hammering any nails that pop up." Henry nodded. "Yeah. The other half of my thought about Montaine is… how long until he turns into Donner?"

"You mean his chief, the man you and Minister Vitorino bribed with a bottle of wine?"

"A bottle of fine Lusitanian port," Henry corrected jovially. At Vidia's nod, Henry chuckled. "Yeah. How long until it's Montaine letting the League's precious laws slide for his own benefit? How long until that loyal cog in the machine starts looking out for number one?"

"Only God knows."

"I don't think God has anything to do with it," Henry said. "It's basic human nature. When it comes down to it, most of us are going to look out for ourselves, and the ones who don't, well…"

"They're the ones who end up bein' cashiered from the Coalition Defense Force while the real criminals walk away with the money," Vidia said. He ignored the pointed, almost angry glare from Henry. "And it comes around to it again, Jim. You won't forgive."

"Forgive who? The corrupt sons-of-bitches making money off of our blood?" Henry asked. Heat filled his voice. "The politicians and generals who decide that it's better for the service if the whole thing is hushed? Don't want to rattle the boat. There's a war on. We'll ruin the life of the one guy who tried to do the right thing." Henry leaned forward at his desk. "In the Coalition, we go out believing God's on our side. Doesn't matter if you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Bahá'í…"

Vidia nodded slightly, recognizing the listing of his religion among the larger ones. He wasn't new to the rant, but he still listened quietly.

"That's what we're told again and again. But it's not driven the League off our frontier. It's not winning the war. When you look into it, you see the Coalition's got corruption just like the League. Hell, it's everywhere. That's what life out here has taught me. No matter where I've gone, it's all corruption and hypocrisy." Henry thumped his hand on his desk. "And here I am, running errands for Vitorino, who's just as corrupt as the bastards who threw me out of the CDF. So what's that make me?"

"A man tryin' to survive, like any of us." Vidia smiled wistfully. "I think God understands that."

A harsh little chuckle was Henry's answer. "It must be nice, having faith."

"You used to."

"Yeah. Then I realized something." Henry's voice had lost its heat. It had lost all but the barest hint of emotion. "I realized the truth about God."

"And you will enlighten me?" Vidia asked with genuine interest. It was new ground for them.

"If He's out there… He stopped caring about humanity a long time ago." Henry leaned back in his seat. "And I don't blame Him."

Vidia inclined his head. "Well," he said, "that is a breakthrough of a sort. But I still think you need to forgive if you're goin' to feel any better, Jim."

"And who do you think I should forgive?"

"Yourself."

With that, Vidia departed, leaving Henry to his work and his thoughts.

4

For Miri Gaon, time was nearly out. Her second tank of air was down to twenty percent. Several hours of exhausted sleep might have given her an hour or two extra from the lower breathing rate, but that was all. In about four or five hours, give or take twenty minutes, the oxygen content of her breathing air would begin declining. More and more waste gases would build up in the suit. She would get light-headed and have trouble breathing until everything stopped.

It was not an entirely unpleasant way to die. There were worse methods. Escaping execution was why she was out there in the first place.

As her hours ticked down, Miri considered the choices that led her to her stay in the void. After Lowery and the commendations, the medals, the debriefings… she might have stayed on. Not in the field, as the League knew who she was, but she might have gone into training. She could’ve taught and guided others to match her accomplishments. It was what her superiors expected. But she would never put another human being through the same hells she'd gone through.

She chose retirement instead. Because of the scope of her accomplishments, they were kind enough. She received the full pension by special dispensation instead of the half-pension her early retirement would have otherwise mandated.

But pensions couldn’t buy security that easily, and the League knew who she was. They had agents in Coalition space as much as the Coalition had agents in League space. Those agents could be given the orders to have her executed, just as they went after defectors. She would forever live with an eye open at night and a gun under her pillow.

But out in neutral space, going from planet to planet and hiring on with any spacecraft looking for an extra hand, she was a moving target. And she got to see the galaxy. Worlds that still had peace. No rationing, no war reports dominating the news, no cheap politics with everyone accusing one another of defeatism.

Nothing to remind her of Lowery or of what she had done.

Miri's eyes went back to the display. Five percent. She was nearly out of time.

Maybe that was okay. Perhaps dying out there, alone in the dark, just herself and God, was what was meant to be.

She prayed it was true in the moments before she fell asleep for what might be the final time.

5

Gamavilla

Lusitania, Independent System, Neutral Space

5 August 2460

The parliament building of the Republic of Lusitania was a work of art. People from across the planet, indeed from across the entire Trifid Nebula region, came to view the building of alabaster marble and granite from its place at the end of the Plaza of the Republic—known locally as Praça da República. On its north end, it was bordered by the Rua da República that connected to the aforementioned plaza, being one of the main roads of the capital city Gamavilla. The south entrance facing the plaza was faced with marble sculptures of some of the most significant figures in the history of the founding states, with the fresco above the classical columns at the entrance depicting the signing of the Accords of Colonization between the leaders of the Portuguese, Moroccan, Galician, and Basque colonists who had settled the planet four centuries before.

Inside the building, public tours were permitted limited access to see the works of art bequeathed to the Republic over its existence. Beautiful paintings and sculptures, calligraphic art in the Islamic style, and fine crafted items of Berber make were all found in the rotunda to celebrate the peoples of the Republic.

At present, a group of schoolchildren was the largest group of visitors, tended by a teacher and four chaperones who were seeing to their charges. They were reviewing a painting of the landing of the Vasco da Gama, the colony ship that gave Gamavilla its name.

Without prompting, a man in an elegant dark suit spoke. "You are enjoying yourselves, I hope. Education is always served by enjoyment."

"I am," a particularly bold child announced from the group. One of the chaperones and a teacher each gave the child a look, but he seemed unfazed by it.

"There is quite a story behind that painting," the man said. "It was made ten years after colonization by the first great painter of Lusitania, Miguel Hakkaoui. He was half Moroccan himself and landed aboard the Idris ibn Abdallah."

"But I thought each nation stayed apart in those days?" another child asked. "In school, they said we had no unity."

"Not yet. But some of our people were working on that. We enjoy the result of those labors and efforts. Can anyone tell me why we came out to this planet?"

After several seconds of seeing no other response, the eager boy said, "To get away from Earth. We followed the Exodus Fleet to Sagittarius, although we did not join their Coalition."

"Why not?" another child asked.

The man answered before the boy could. "Because we wished to be our own peoples. We had cultures we wanted to preserve. This is of understandable importance to me, you understand, for I am the Minister of Culture as well as Trade."

With that revelation, Duarte Vitorino enjoyed the shocked, almost horrified expressions on the faces of the teacher and chaperone. Another politician might have been bothered that they had not immediately recognized him, especially not like they might recognize Caetano—but who wouldn't know Cristina Caetano, the she-wolf of the Tagus Valley? He was just fine with his relative anonymity. There were other ways to get things done than to be the center of attention.

"I am quite sorry," he added, devoting his attention to the group. "I rarely get to go unrecognized, and it was a treat to see the children enjoying their trip. Thank you for your time. I must be off now."

"Thank you for your time, sir," the teacher said, still visibly shaken. "We are honored. Are we not, children?"

The children agreed in a chorus that combined the genuinely enthusiastic with the utterly bored.

Vitorino smiled and nodded before moving on.

* * *

After a meeting with the Prime Minister and other senior legislators on his pending trade agreements, Vitorino left the parliament building to visit his favorite café, a lovely place along the plaza called Abdul's. Named for its Moroccan founder, it served cuisine from across Lusitania, and Vitorino enjoyed the recipes used. He preferred sitting at one of its street-side tables and seeing the life of Gamavilla's center, the people attending its café.

His lunch usually went peacefully. But today, he knew it would not. That expectation was proven correct when he looked up to pour another glass of Madeira and noticed the approaching figure.

Paulina Ascaro. She was, like him, a politician, and she'd been his colleague as the Commerce Minister. But she was with the Party for Democratic Unity and had lost her cabinet ministry after a snap election. Vitorino thought her solely to blame, as she'd tried—and failed—to break the governing coalition by voting against a new bill streamlining the rules by which the government could enact the State of Siege. While her voters in the city and region of Zalain within the Basque districts returned her to the assembly in defiance of the government, her party failed to gain the extra votes that would thwart the government in signing the law.

Were Vitorino the more paranoid type, he would have been worried about being seen with her in public. She was, after all, a significant opposition leader, and his coalition allies in Cristina Caetano's PdDN—Partido da Defesa Nacional, Party of National Defense—particularly hated her. They tend to hate everyone who disagrees with them, given their fascistic nationalist ideology. An accusation that he was working with her might cause him trouble. But he was confident in his influence within his party, the National-Republicans, and in his standing in the government, so he let her approach without comment.

She was near him in age, three years younger, as far as he knew, but she looked ten years older. Her nose seemed almost too small for her pinched-in face. Brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, covered as they were by the austere dark business jacket she was wearing, which helped hide a thin frame that made her look almost anorexic. Not that she was weak, of course. Vitorino thought her greatest vice was not weakness but her strength of will, which often translated into a stubborn behavior he considered mulish and counterproductive. He refrained from a sigh and set down his fork, waiting to hear her speak.

"Minister, good afternoon," she said, her Portuguese accented from her Basque upbringing.

"Good afternoon, Assemblywoman," he said amiably. "Would you like to sit? I bought a bottle of Madeira that I have yet to complete."

"That won't be necessary," she said. "I just wanted to confirm that those trade treaties you've supported have met final cabinet approval."

He smiled. "Some of my colleagues should be careful. Caetano would be incensed to know you have ears in the cabinet."

"I'm sure she would. It will make her attempts to complete a fascist takeover of our world more transparent."

Vitorino sighed. "Come now, Assemblywoman—"

"Don't tell me you believe her sated, Minister. You're too intelligent by half. The woman intends to consolidate power and remove the last vestiges of our rights. The behavior of her political thugs makes that clear."

Vitorino couldn't argue the point. The PdDN's behavior, at least that of their street-level members, did often go too far. And members of the Party for Democratic Unity and other democratic parties were often their victims. "We have censured the conduct of her people more than once, and she does what she can to rein in their passions," he said, a hint of humor in his voice at how untrue the statement was.

"That’s the government's line, I know, and it's a sick joke," Ascaro replied. "You gave her the Defense and Home Ministries. She controls the military, the gendarme, the RSS, and the police. And she uses them on my supporters while her own get away with literal murder!" There was clear heat at the end. Ascaro's parliamentary calm was weakening.

"Her party is third in seats. No functioning government coalition can form without them," Vitorino pointed out calmly. "Caetano knows it. I'm afraid I can do nothing until we have another election."

"You're assuming we have another one. With the State of Siege laws…"

"I'm well aware of your concerns, Assemblywoman. But again, I can do nothing. I am Minister of Trade and Culture, not the Prime Minister. Perhaps the PdDN will weaken before the next election cycle."

"Even if they did, the violence the PdDN uses will warp the results. You and I both know they undermined the last election."

"The investigation was inconclusive."

Ascaro laughed bitterly. "The investigation under the police agencies you put their leader in charge of."

Vitorino leveled a look at her. "Just what do you want from me, Assemblywoman?"

"A sign that you understand what is going on," she replied. "A sign you're not as blind as the others. Lusitania is on the cusp of falling to fascism. The Estado Novo hasn't made our society more secure—it's made it more unstable than ever."

"That's as much your fault as anyone's," Vitorino pointed out. He watched Ascaro's face change from surprise to anger at the charge. "The democratic parties have their own militants. In your own Zalain, Basque regionalists burnt down a PdDN party office, didn't they?"

"After the mayor of Zalain was shot in the streets by a PdDN militant," Ascaro retorted.

"Still, it contributes," Vitorino answered evenly. "By taking violent means, you make it easier for Caetano and her people to justify their behavior. You make the Estado Novo more necessary, not less."

"It was one incident," she replied. "Our parties are usually the victims of civil violence!"

"It is regrettable. But it is the world we live in." Vitorino reached for his utensil. "Now, I don't wish to be rude, but I must finish my meal before my next appointment. I have important business to attend to."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Ascaro said icily. She turned and walked off.

Vitorino smiled at her back and returned to his meal.

6

The stiffness was the first thing Miri noticed when she awoke. Her entire body felt like a board. Two days alone in the vacuum, mostly unmoving, had left her unready to move.

The second thing was that she was breathing. She was alive.

Then she noticed the light around her. She was no longer in space but aboard something, maybe inside. A ship? A station?

As Miri twitched, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She found herself looking up at a grizzled older man and a plump middle-aged woman. The former had a long, bushy, wiry gray-black beard, and the latter had graying wheat-colored hair. When they spoke, it took Miri a moment to recognize the language, causing her to miss some of it.

Her focus gathered enough to make out the Russian. "—want to know. She is from a protected ship."

"She needs rest. Look at her!"

"The brothers are in charge, and they want to speak to her. She will stay here regardless, but they must know. Do not try their patience, Yevgenya."

The woman sighed and stormed off as the man began examining her. "You are awake," he said in broken, halted English. "That is good."

Miri's voice was hoarse. "Where am I?"

"Aboard ship Morozova. From Cyrilgrad."

"Cyrilgrad. You are—Old Believers." She kept herself from using the word "starovéry." For the moment, it was best if they didn't know she could speak and understand Russian.

"Yes." He gave her an urgent look. "You are not from League?"

"No. No."

Miri could guess her instinctive look of disgust at the idea was more convincing than her verbal reply. A glimpse of relief came to the man's face. "Good. Brothers would throw you out airlock. Their father and uncle killed by League."

Miri hid that she was already guessing this. Old Believer brothers with a vendetta against the League and a ship named Morozova could only mean…

The door to the ship infirmary opened, and Yevgenya returned in the company of two men. They looked similar, with just a year or two difference in age and both wearing blue spacer jumpsuits. One had a full beard and mustache, the other a thinner beard, and both had the same blue-gray eye color.

"Feodor, how is our guest?" the one with the full beard asked in Russian.

"Recovering. She was on her last breaths of oxygen when you brought her aboard. It will take time for her to regain her strength."

The second asked, "And what ship is she from? The suit is from the Kensington Star, but you know how spacers are about keeping suits..."

"Ask her yourself, Piotr."

The second, the one with the smaller beard, turned his head to Miri. "You are from Kensington Star?" he asked in strongly accented English.

"I am," she replied. "Karla Lupa." The alias was the one she’d used for the roster.

"What happened? Why did you abandon your ship?"

"We were attacked," she said, "by a League cruiser."

The two brothers shared a look. "Can we trust her, Pavel?" the other asked in Russian.

"Maybe, maybe not. We should check the roster of the ship. Maybe we can confirm the name. Not that I think it is her real name. I do not believe she is a normal spacer—none would risk days in void or slow death, even to escape the League. More likely to shoot themselves. She is different."

Miri kept her expression from changing. The elder brother was too smart for her liking.

"I am Piotr Sergeevich Tokarev," he said, his English even more thickly accented than his brother's. "This is my brother, Pavel Sergeevich. You are on our ship, Morozova."

Since she knew they expected it, Miri looked shocked. "The Tokarev brothers," she rasped. "You… you're pirates."

"We are," said Piotr. "It puts food on our table. Fuel in our ship. Protects Cyrilgrad from League. But do not worry. Kensington Star owned by company that pays us protection. We not harm you."

The relieved expression Miri gave them wasn't staged. "Then what will you do with me?"

"Maybe we should not tell her where we are going, Piotr," Pavel said, switching back to Russian. "She might panic, think wrong things."

"Then don't," the brother answered.

Miri kept her face neutral, but she did not like the sound of that.

"We go to neutral world," Pavel said to her. "There, we contact your company, let you go. Is simple."

"I see." Miri blinked and swallowed. "And thank you. For saving me."

The brothers shrugged almost at the same time. "Is no trouble," said Piotr. "We are spacers, da? Yes? Spacers do not leave spacers in void. God would punish."

"Feodor Stepanovich will see to your need," Pavel said. "We back to ship watch now. Will arrive at destination tomorrow. You eat, drink, get rest. Thank God for His mercy."

"I will," Miri assured the elder Tokarev.

Without another word, the two brothers departed. Miri said nothing more as the older man, Feodor, escorted her from the infirmary.

7

Henry sat quietly in his chair and enjoyed the view. The Shadow Wolf was making her pre-landing orbit of Lusitania. For the purpose of said landing, the control bridge was fully manned with Cera and Piper at the forward stations, Tia at her post, and Yavik at the auxiliary console linking to engineering and system control. Everything was ready. All that remained was clearance from Orbital Traffic Control.

"We should get a good payout, right, Captain?" Cera asked, her lilt complementing her enthusiasm.

"Looking to hit the bars again?" he replied with a bemused grin.

"Lusitania has some damn good whiskey," Cera answered defensively. "But that's not all I'm lookin' for."

From her seat, Tia rolled her eyes. "If you saved even a quarter of what you wasted on your shore leaves, McGinty, you could own the Shadow Wolf by now."

"But I don't want to own her," the pilot insisted. "Too much crap to deal with. The Captain's far better at dealin' with it."

"He is very good at it, yes," Piper agreed, "although I have to admit that a flight to the Acevedo Islands and a few days at one of the resorts there would be a welcome change. All we ever visit on Lusitania is Gamavilla."

Henry didn't take the bait.

Yanik provided relief from the discussion. "We have our landing vector," the Saurian informed them.

"Transmit to helm." Henry nodded to Tia. "Sound landing alert."

"Yes, sir." Tia hit a switch on her chair. "Attention, crew. This is First Mate Nguyen. We are preparing for landing now." Even on the bridge, her voice seemed to boom over the ship's intercom. "All hands, assume landing seats. You have thirty seconds until first de-orbit burn."

Time passed quickly. At the specific mark of thirty, Cera fired the engines and thrusters. The Shadow Wolf turned toward the planet as its altitude decreased, slowly at first but with growing speed as Cera followed the corkscrew course into the atmosphere. Gradually, the dark void of space gave way to an azure sky. The ship shook from turbulence, but under Cera McGinty's expert control, there was no danger, and at her guidance, the Shadow Wolf flew lower and lower. Clouds went by, and gradually, the city of Gamavilla, with its Iberian and Moroccan architecture, became visible.

Their destination was at the northern point of the city. The municipal spaceport, largest on the planet and one of the larger ones in the Trifid Nebula region, gave Lusitania its primary link to interstellar trade. Henry observed the ease with which Cera set the Shadow Wolf down in her customary hangar, D8, and decided she had indeed earned the bonus from her share of the haul they were making off Minister Vitorino.

Henry would have to arrange a car for the Trade Minister. Vitorino would want a face-to-face meeting to have Henry's report on the trip delivered to him personally.

"I'll go make sure the port office has all of our paperwork and resupply orders together," he said. "And I'll find out when we can expect the unloading."

"We'll be waiting, sir," Tia pledged.

* * *

Henry ultimately opted to get a taxi instead of renting a vehicle. His driver was an older gray-haired Moroccan man who identified himself amiably as Muammar. Henry returned the greeting in what Arabic he knew from his education and directed Muammar to the Ministry of Trade building.

Built at the edge of Gamavilla's government district along the Rua Marrakech and across from several high-rise bank towers, the building seemed small. Only three stories high, it was at least a sight for those looking for something more aesthetically pleasing than a tower of glass and steel. It was built in classical Iberian style, which made it look like it might have been lifted from Lisbon or A Coruña back on Earth. Glass doors opened to a grand foyer of granite and marble construction. Armed men and women in the uniforms of the Republic Security Service stood watch over the hall from both visible levels.

Henry approached the man on duty at the main desk. He knew it would be an issue when he didn't recognize him—clearly, he was new to the job. "James Henry, here for Minister Vitorino," he said in passable Portuguese.

"Appointment?" The look on the receptionist's face made clear how little he thought of Henry. Henry's brown spacer's jacket, pressed-but-plain polo shirt, and black trousers clearly indicated that he was not a government official or someone who merited the best treatment by the ministry.

"None. But he was expecting my return today or tomorrow."

The look of the suited man told Henry he was going to have to wait and indeed that the man saw him as some troublesome offworlder who thought himself above appointments and whom he, the guardian to the Ministry of Trade's officialdom, would do nothing for if he could help it.

Nevertheless, Henry took a seat and waited for the receptionist to clear him. During the next half hour, the man was utterly devoid of duties to perform for about eighteen minutes, during which he made no move whatsoever to contact the minister's office. Finally, Henry got back up and asked him, "Have you gotten in touch with the minister's office yet?"

A small sneer crossed his face. "I am afraid that without an appointment, it is difficult to work you into Minister Vitorino's tight schedule," he said innocently. "I can do nothing for you."

"All right. Let me see if I can help." Henry ignored the contemptuous, bewildered look on the receptionist's face while he activated his commlink and linked it to Vitorino's office. He made sure to hit the speaker function.

"This is Minister Vitorino's office," a woman said.

"Rita, this is Captain Henry." Henry rather enjoyed seeing the color seep from the receptionist's face. His haughty expression was frozen in place by disbelief and growing fear. "I'm having a few issues at the reception desk—"

"Let me speak to the receptionist."

"You're on speaker."

"Senhora Serrano," began the man, still clearly troubled at the way this was developing.

"Listen to me, you jumped-up little toad. Captain Henry is one of Minister Vitorino's most reliable couriers. You will let him come up whenever he arrives unless otherwise instructed by myself or the minister. Send him up immediately, or I will personally inform Minister Vitorino of your treatment of the captain. I assure you, he will make his displeasure known swiftly. Am I clear?"

"Yes. I understand." His frown hadn't disappeared, but the fear was new. He swiftly gave Henry's ID card the necessary accesses—temporary as they were because of security regulations—to reach the minister's office. Henry gave the man his kindest smile before walking to the nearest lift. He scanned his ID card to gain access. The door opened to reveal a gravlift with beautiful wood paneling. Reading his ID card's permissions, the lift controls permitted him access to the third floor, the exclusive preserve of the Minister of Trade and his highest subordinates.

From there, Henry walked quietly to the minister's office. He received few looks, not that there were many people on the level to give any. Once he arrived at the minister's office, he stepped up to the elegant desk of Rita Serrano, Minister Vitorino's assistant. She spoke Portuguese with the particular accent of a Galician-speaker, distinct but reflecting the close relation of the two languages. "Captain, the minister will see you shortly."

"Obrigado." Henry took a seat and quietly took in the view. Works of art lined the walls and much of the surface area of the tables. Henry was not an art student to know who made what, but he wouldn't have been surprised to find out that any of the works had been carried from Earth in the exodus. Or even afterward, given Vitorino's connections.

After several minutes, the door to the office opened. A young man stepped out. Henry recognized him as Raoul, Vitorino's chief of staff. "He's ready for you, Captain," the man said in accented English.

"Thanks." Henry entered the office.

Raoul closed the door behind him. Evidently, he would not be part of their conversation.

Duarte Vitorino was seated at his desk, tapping away at the comp panel built into the surface. He seemed to come to an end of his work. He dismissed it with a swipe of his hand before looking up at Henry. A soft little smile crossed his face. When he spoke, he used English. "Ah, Captain, welcome back to Gamavilla. I hear you have a hold full of high-quality lithium ore from New Hathwell."

"We do. My crew should be offloading it now," answered Henry. "Chief Inspector Donner appreciated the wine."

The soft smile gained a bemused edge. "Oh, I am quite sure of that." Vitorino chuckled. "The League only permits the barest of staples out here in the Sagittarius Arm. I am told that back in their home space, every League citizen gets a bottle of whatever fine drink they desire once a month, so long as they've met standards in their work."

"My ship's medic says otherwise."

"Does he? How would he… oh, yes." Vitorino chuckled again. "Doctor Kiderlein was League military and born on Earth, wasn't he? Yes, I suppose he should know. I will have to keep that in mind when considering further gifts to Chief Donner and his associates." Vitorino turned his comp back on and hit several keys. "System, transfer the approved amount to the account of the vessel Shadow Wolf."

"Processing."

Moments later, Henry's commlink let out a tone indicating it was receiving an update. He quietly lifted it and activated the screen. An account update from the Interstellar Bank of Rand on Galt confirmed the transfer of ten million Interstellar Bank credits' worth of Lusitanian escudos into the operating account of the Shadow Wolf. It was an excellent addition to the account, more than sufficient for the time and costs of the contract. Henry put the link back in his pocket. "A pleasure doing business with you again, Minister," Henry said. "Did you have anything else?"

"A potential contract. This time for cargo to Harron."

Henry nodded and hid his discomfort. Harron was not one of the nicer worlds in the Trifid Nebula sectors. But a contract was a contract, and Vitorino was a well-paying employer. "Well, let me know. We should be on planet for a few days, at least. Give everyone a chance to remember how a normal sun feels."

"Of course. And before you go…" Vitorino stood from his desk and walked to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out two wine glasses and a bottle of the same port they had employed in their bribery of the League's Chief Donner. "Would you honor me with a drink, Captain?"

Henry nodded. It was excellent customer relations to accept an offer like that, and a pleasure besides to enjoy the fruits of Vitorino's wealth. "I would be honored to do so, Minister," he said. "Your hospitality is welcome."

Vitorino smiled. "You do dangerous work, Captain, and I am appreciative of it."

Henry considered Vitorino's choice of words. "It can be, yes." He frowned. "You lost a ship?"

"Not myself. An associate of mine lost a ship he owned, the Star of Coruna, under Captain Dominguez. It was due at New Aragon six days ago."

That made Henry sigh. He didn't know Dominguez personally, but he'd heard good things about him. "That's the tenth ship in two months," he said. He didn't add that going back six months, over three dozen ships had disappeared.

"Yes." Vitorino's expression darkened. "I've been told it's pirates."

"They're out there," Henry agreed. "And since there aren't many states with interstellar navies out here, there's plenty of undefended space for them to hide in."

"That's the nature of space, isn't it? We are but tiny specks in a vast void, where any sort of threat might hide." Vitorino sipped his wine. "Please take care, Captain. Whatever is causing this escalation of disappearances, it worries me. I would hate to lose your services, should you and your vessel be claimed."

"As much as I would hate getting spaced or whatever else they'd do," Henry replied. He took another drink of the wine and said nothing more on the subject.

Vitorino took the hint. He held up his glass, still over half full. "A toast, then, my dear Captain, to you and your fine ship and crew. You have made me quite a satisfied customer."

"Thank you, Minister," Henry answered. Their glasses touched. "I'm always happy to find satisfied customers."

* * *

With his meeting with Vitorino concluded, Henry departed the Ministry of Trade. He made it to the street before his commlink went off. He brought it up to his ear. "Henry here."

"Jim." Felix's voice sounded strained. "Can you come to the mission? It's my brother… he's been hurt."

Henry frowned. "On my way."

8

Another taxi—this one driven by an irritable Gamavillero who wouldn't give her name and responded in monosyllabic grunts—took Henry to the outer edge of the city. Some of the residential districts were fine-looking ones, the abodes of the upper and middle class of Gamavilla. But his destination was one of the barrios along the western edge of Gamavilla, the dark underbelly of a lovely city like Gamavilla and a reminder of humanity's long history of issues with poverty. Multistoried apartments, some better looking than others, housed the urban poor that worked all across the city, some resigned to their lot and others still looking for the edge to elevate them to something better. Interspersed among them were small businesses in strip malls or on the first floors of residential buildings—bodegas, stores, cheap eateries, and other shops catering to the local needs and desires, some of which were not so benign or even legal.

The Faith Outreach Mission catered to a different kind of need, a different form of desire. Instead of meeting material wants, it was there to provide spiritual nourishment along with the physical variety, to give hope that there was something better waiting for others. It was appropriately contained in an old church, the area's former Catholic parish until the local bishop acquired a better building in a better area that pleased the middle-class worshippers. Walls of brown with white trim matched the neighborhood, preventing the mission from seeming out of place to the locals. Signs in the four languages of Lusitania proclaimed the name of the center.

Or they had. Once the taxi stopped, Henry noted the sign was defaced. Spray paint obscured the name, replacing it with a declaration in Portuguese of "Foreigners GO HOME!" "DEATH TO TRAITORS" was scrawled beside the door, which was busted half off of its hinges. He frowned as he entered the building. His hand went absentmindedly to his holster as he stepped through the entryway.

Someone had gone after the pews with an ax, splitting open the seats. The Bibles and hymnals had taken the worst of the abuse, as if the vandals had been offended by their very existence.

Sitting at the steps to a splintered and wrecked altar was the director and lead pastor of the mission, the Reverand Julian "Jules" Rothbard. Felix was sitting beside his brother, treating a wound on Jules's forehead with a medical kit. Henry stepped up to them. "What the hell happened here?" Henry asked.

"PdDN thugs," Felix answered, "coming from a rally." He ran a medicated towelette over Jules's wound. "Fascist bastards."

"Going to call the police?"

Jules chuckled. "Jim, the police answer to the Home Ministry. Who do you think runs them?"

"Right." Henry nodded. He was familiar with the reputation and power of the she-wolf, Cristina Caetano. "And they hate you because you're from the Coalition? That's it?"

"The PdDN party paper accuses Faith Outreach of being a front for Coalition intelligence all of the time," Jules said. "We're part of a vast Coalition conspiracy to undermine the Estado Novo, obviously."

"I bet they don't do the same thing to the League's stooges in those social solidarity groups," Felix muttered. He reached into the medkit for a bandage and gauze roll.

"Oh, they get it too. One of theirs got killed last month over in Nova Lisboa when the local PdDN enforcers torched their local office." Jules shook his head, drawing a glare from his brother for nearly ruining the bandage. "They're paranoid about both sides."

"I guess you won't be having services any time soon," Henry said, surveying the damage.

"Oh, we have enough local supporters that I can get the help to clean everything up in time for the next service," Jules assured them. "And they didn't mess up the soup kitchen, so at least I can still give my daily meals."

"Still, you'll need new pews, books, a door…" Henry looked to Felix, who nodded in unspoken agreement. "Felix and I will chip in some credits."

"Your donations will be welcome, Jim. But I'll forego them if you'll come to a service."

Henry chuckled. "Not happening."

"You can't stay angry forever."

"It's not anger." Henry crossed his arms. "It's resignation. I suppose the Almighty and I are in agreement on that."

"This is the part where he tells us that God turned His back on humanity, and you insist he's wrong," Felix said to Jules. "And there, all done." He pulled his hands away from his brother's new bandage.

"I know… thanks." Jules turned his head to face his brother. "And you, Felix? Can't I get my own brother to come to a service?"

"You know me, Jules. You were always the spiritual one in the family. I'm the apostate."

"More lapsed than an apostate." Jules patted his brother on the shoulder. "Besides, we're Methodists, not Catholics. It's not supposed to work that way."

"I thought Faith Outreach was nondenominational," Henry said.

"It is, but it doesn't ask us to give up on the churches we're connected to," Jules replied.

"Fair enough." Henry looked at his old friend with sadness. His simple suit was frayed and ripped from the attack. The white bandage around his head made Jules look like he'd been in a battle, which was not too inaccurate an observation. "There are other worlds where you could run a mission. I mean, worlds where they won't kick your ass and vandalize your church because you're from another planet."

"I know." Jules smiled and shook his head. "But this is where God wants me. I'm here to spread Christ's message to people who need to hear it, and these people need it."

"And Caetano and her thugs?"

"They're the ones who need to hear it the most," Jules said.

Felix shook his head and suppressed a laugh. "We won't talk him out of this, Jim. My brother's determined to stay, even if it makes him a martyr."

"Right." Henry sighed and looked around. "Well, let's at least get this stuff picked up. Then you just have to wait for the replacements."

"Your assistance is welcome," Jules said. "I have faith that I'll get you back to church one of these days."

Henry shook his head but said nothing. In the end, everyone needed hope to hold on to, even if it led nowhere.

9

PV Morozova

Harron System, Neutral Space

6 August 2460

Miri felt her strength coming back gradually, breathing air that was only slightly stale—the life support system's scrubbers needed work—and eating bowls of borscht and other typical Russian fare, which pleased a stomach that had been empty for far too long. The meal was certainly not kosher, but then again, it wasn't the first time she'd had to break the dietary laws.

With enough time passed since the last jump, Miri was confident they'd arrived at their destination system, although the Morozova hadn't landed yet. She went to sleep wondering where, precisely, they were. There were several worlds in the region she preferred to avoid, although with their reputation, she could at least be sure they weren’t on a League or League-friendly planet.

She was awoken by a gentle nudge from Feodor's nurse, an older woman named Yevgenya. "Come," she said. "We are on planet now."

Miri followed Yevgenya into the dark-blue corridors of the Morozova. Their route took them through the crew spaces of the ship and eventually to a cargo bay. Boxes of materials—most stolen, she suspected—were being unloaded.

Piotr Tokarev was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. With him was an alien about a quarter of a meter taller. The alien's skin had a rubbery look to it, and the two eyes on the being's head were set farther apart on the face than on a human. The clothing was of contrasting orange and green hues with a series of patterns over the chest.

Miri suddenly understood precisely why the Tokarev brothers hadn't wanted to tell her their destination.

The alien was a Harr'al, and they were almost certainly on their homeworld, Harron.

The Harr'al were one of the less advanced species in the galaxy. They were a disunited planet of kingdoms and principalities, a few theocracies, and some enclaves from other species established with the support of local potentates. Between the Harr'al attitudes and the nature of the offworlders who set up the enclaves, everything from gun running to drug smuggling to sapient trafficking was permitted, even encouraged. The Harr'al themselves usually practiced slavery. With their position in the Trifid Nebula region being far from worlds with both the power and desire to do something about it, it wouldn't change anytime soon.

Miri didn't quite keep the fear from her face. It was an instinctive one but would at least secure her cover. Anyone in her position would have had cause to fear being brought to Harron, where the nonexistent law and the practices of the locals brought the genuine worry of being sold into slavery.

Piotr noticed her and shook his head. "No need for worry. I not sell you or anyone. Would be offense to God. Besides, protection was paid for your ship."

"I understand. Thank you." Miri wondered if he would have been so friendly if he knew she was Jewish. Old prejudices didn't always die out, even with aliens around to make the bigotry seem more foolish.

Piotr gestured to the Harr'al. "This is Vasily. Christian name. He convert to church, our agent here."

The Harr'al nodded. "My greetings." He pronounced English almost as poorly as Piotr. Miri watched him cross himself in the Eastern Orthodox style, using two fingers. "Christian. Christians are true religion."

Piotr beamed with pride at Vasily.

Miri had little knowledge of Harr'al religion. It was not unheard of for religious conversions to happen between species if the religions were already compatible with a species' needs and psychology. She briefly wondered what led the Harr'al to embrace a human faith over his own world's choices then promptly decided it was none of her business.

"Will take you to dwelling place," said Vasily. "Get you food."

"I would like access to communications as well," she said, "so I can report in to my employers about the Kensington Star."

"Have sent message already," Pavel said. "But is still good you send your own. There is place for spacers. Vasily will take you." He gestured away from the ship. "We launch soon. Keep eye out for League ships, spread word."

Miri answered with a nod but not an enthusiastic one. She figured she would have a hard enough time explaining things to her employers. A lot of people would be inherently suspicious of any claim about the League's involvement. She had a video from her suit, but that might not be enough.

It will have to be, she pondered as she approached the open-topped Harr'al helicar. Vasily took the driver's seat, and she the other. She buckled the harness and said nothing while the Harr'al manipulated the controls. The vehicle lifted into the air and went out the hangar door to reveal the spaceport, a collection of circular structures built around landing pads and a big central terminal. The structures of the city beyond were boxy, looking like they were shaped by clay instead of brick or another material. Other vehicles flitted about in the air around them, going to and from other locales in the city. The streets below teemed with life of all varieties. "I am unfamiliar with the cities on your world," she said to her Harr'al escort. "Where am I?"

"Sektatsh. Eastern edge of Calnat country… nation. Enclave for offworlders. Taking you to Alien Quarter, rooms there."

Miri recognized the name. Sektatsh was one of the seedier ports, certainly. "If you don't mind me asking, what caused you to convert?"

Vasily nodded, although she wasn't sure what that gesture might have meant. "Calnin worship Tashin. Tashin not nice God. Tashin make slaves. Taken as slave myself. Freed by missionary, learn about true religion and how Jesus came to free slaves!" The answer, enthusiastic as it was, was also punctuated by the broken English Vasily spoke.

"I hope you have found happiness, then," Miri said. "This city, are there any slavers?"

"Slavers everywhere on Harron. Everywhere. Not open here, but still here."

So I had best be careful. "Is there somewhere in the Alien Quarter where I will be safe?"

"Yes. Take you to spacer home."

Miri was glad to hear it, and soon, she noticed the destination’s symbol of three round shapes arranged in a circle on a dark-blue field, the insignia of the Interplanetary Spacers' Union. Like many others in the trade, she—or at least Karla Lupa—was a dues-paying member of the ISU, and for a good reason. Her case was one of the significant reasons the organization existed and continued to get membership—it provided support in the event of surviving the loss of a ship and advocates to argue with the transport carriers, corporate or private.

The roof was topped by the assemblage of discs and antennae of a quantum transceiver. The connection it had to the regional quantum entanglement network would allow her to connect via commlink to her accounts and pay for things, as well as let the owners of the Kensington Star know what had happened.

Miri pondered whether she should alert them at all. The League had agents in neutral space, agents who might pick up any message she sent. If they realized she was a witness to the attack, they would come after her even if they didn't know that Karla Lupa was Miri Gaon, hated spy and traitor. Perhaps she should disappear, become someone else, and find another ship to get off Harron.

Then again, the Tokarev brothers had already told the owners about her. If Karla Lupa went missing, the wrong conclusions might be drawn. And if the League raids kept up, well, it was folly to think she would get away again.

"Vasily, I need a gun," she said insistently.

"As you need breath," he answered.

A small smile came to Miri's face. Given the reputation of Harron and the enclaves on the planet, those two things were likely connected. "Do you know someone trustworthy?"

"Yes. Missionary. Can take you to them."

The fact that even missionaries on Harron had firearms didn’t surprise her. "I'm going to be a bit, but I can give you a tip to wait for me. Extra money?" She added the last to ensure he understood. "Then we'll go see your missionary."

Vasily nodded.

Miri thanked him and left the helicar. Once inside the hostel, she found that it met the usual design of such places. The lobby, not unlike a hotel lobby, had several chairs and couches, mostly worn to some degree, and some occupied. An HV with vidlink capability was active, displaying a holovid series from another world for the enjoyment of a few human spacers. A pair of big Saurians sat at one table, playing a lively game of rastek. The distinct smell of Tal'mayan sweet smoke wafted through Miri's nostrils, as did the distant scent of liquor. No spacer hostel or hotel worth its salt was without a bar.

She approached the main desk. A young man of East Asian appearance was on duty, his head nearly shaved bald and several star-pattern tattoos mixed with Japanese characters inked on his head and neck. "Union ID number?" he asked her in a perfunctory tone.

"Two nine zero four eight two nine," she replied immediately. "Karla Lupa out of Laffler."

The concierge immediately typed the number in. An identification station on the lobby desk became active, lighting up blue. Miri applied the fingers of her right hand to one scanner and pressed her eye against another. The scanner machine checked her retina, fingerprints, and geneprint against the union's database. After an electronic ping, the concierge checked his screen and nodded. "Miss Lupa. Welcome to the Sektatsh ISU Hostel and Hotel. Are you seeking a bed in the common area or…"

"A private room, please," she said. "With full commlink access."

The young man nodded. She noticed him pale a little. "You… you're from the Kensington Star?"

"Yes." Miri glanced around quickly. No one else was nearby, so they hadn't been overheard.

"She's on the missing list as of yesterday. They flagged you and every other member of the crew," he said. "Is she here?"

"No. I was adrift in space and picked up by other spacers." Miri wasn't about to admit that "Karla" was saved by the Tokarevs. The ISU got twitchy about pirates for understandable reasons. "I escaped after our ship was taken. I… I didn't see by who." She made the lie work. The kid might talk, and if he did, it would draw even more attention than she was already getting. And her employers would likely be unhappy if she told some hotel clerk before them. "I need to report in."

"Um, all right, here." He took a blank keycard and ran it through the machine to encode it with her personal information and the room authorization code. "Room 288. Second floor."

"Thank you." With that done, Miri accepted the card and set off for her room. She would make the call and get back to Vasily to get her weapon. She was already confident she would be better off with one.

10

The last crate of lithium settled onto its place on the cargo truck. Tia gave a thumbs-up to the driver, who brought his engine to life and pulled out of the hangar. With the job done and the receipt already filed and waiting for Henry's final signature, she and the others were free to do as they pleased for the rest of the evening, as was custom for their first night back into port. She considered the message she’d received over the GalNet and already knew how she'd spend her evening. She looked forward to it, just as she was sure the others would want to do their own thing.

Indeed, Tia didn't even get the time to return to the hatch before Cera and Piper emerged, wearing unzipped spacer's jackets over their blouses. Cera had on knee-length shorts, while Piper was in a pair of faded blue jeans. "Everythin's secure," Cera said. "We're off t' the pub."

"You two behave," Tia said. "Don't think we've forgotten what happened on Hendry's Station."

"You take all the fun out o' it," Cera protested while Piper giggled.

"Hey, wait!"

Brigitte emerged from the hatch as well, wearing a gaudy pink suit jacket over a purple blouse with pink leggings and lime-green shoes. "I'm coming with!"

"The more, the merrier!" Piper answered.

"I still cannot believe you go out into public like that," Tia said with a sigh. As much as she appreciated their skills, the behavior of her three comrades when on leave could still frustrate her sometimes. "Keep your commlinks on and don't get yourselves arrested!"

"Right, Mum!" Brigitte said sarcastically while falling into step with the other ladies.

Tia briefly rested her face in her right palm before turning away. She walked into the Shadow Wolf via the same hatch, leading into the port hold, which stood empty.

Yanik was standing by the inner hatch. "I will never understand humans," he said.

"I'm human, and I don't understand us sometimes.”

"Captain Henry has already granted all pay and bonuses for the run," Yanik remarked. "I have already arranged my earnings. What about you?"

"I've got business in town to 'arrange my earnings,' as you put it," she replied, thinking of the message again. "Personal business."

"Of course." Yanik fell in with her, following Tia to the stairs leading to the upper door of the hold. "Pieter, Oskar, and I will remain to watch the ship if you desire time in the city."

"I have a few things to finish up first, but thank you. I will take you up on that."

* * *

Pieter prided himself on his skill in dealing with the myriad repairs that even standard operations on the ship demanded of him. And he prided himself on avoiding the kinds of accidents that could bruise, cut, or generally harm men and women in his position.

It was thus quite the blow to his pride to walk into the Shadow Wolf's infirmary, cradling his bleeding left hand, his face twisted into a grimace of pain and injured pride. "Doctor, a little help?"

Oskar looked up from an open box of medicines. "Ah, Pieter. What can I do for you?"

"Bloody damned hinge is worn down on one of the port thruster access hatches, smashed my damn hand. Cut it pretty good too."

"Let me see it." Oskar beckoned him to one of the four exam beds arranged in the infirmary. He examined the left hand by eye for a moment before bringing out a scanning tool. It rendered it into a holographic image. He tapped a key, rotating between X-ray, magnetic resonance scan, and a couple of other images. "No breakage, at least. Damage to muscle and other tissue. Here." He went to his bandaging gear. Within moments, a clean white pad was affixed to the center of the wound, turning crimson where Pieter's blood stained it. Gauze from a roll was swiftly wrapped around Pieter's hand to hold the pad in place. "There. It should be better in a few days."

"Nothing to hasten it?"

Oskar laughed. "Nothing we can afford, I assure you. Perhaps if I was back, well, you know where, I could do something more. If my chief approved the treatment."

Pieter smirked at him. "You're telling me the precious bloody League and all of its talk about caring for everyone is shit?"

"Shit indeed." Oskar shook his head. His expression darkened, and his eyes grew distant. Old memories seemed to be playing through his mind. "Society is not improved if resources are wasted on the careless and undeserving, after all. Back home, it is not so bad, since there are so many resources, but the moment you run even a little short…" He sighed. "It makes a little sense, I suppose, in a rationing situation. An engineer needing his hand fixed is more important than repairing the leg of a station-minder, since he or she sits for work. But the League maintains such systems even when the rationing is not necessary. Individual austerity is the mandate. To consume unnecessarily is to emulate the failures of humanity before the League."

"Huh. Sounds a bit like how things can get back home," Pieter said. "If you don't need something, why should you have it?"

"At least New Oranje can argue it has the finite resources of a society that has yet to fully use the resources of its own planet. It isn’t an interstellar society with many thousands of star systems within its borders." Oskar shook his head. "But I am getting political again."

"Were you like this back in the League?"

"Oh heavens, no! Getting political can make one a social danger, after all. Unless you're in a political post, and you have to be a dedicated Society man to get one of those." Oskar shook his head. "I was just a medical student, you understand. I graduated from Regensburg with a desire to become a doctor in my hometown. But the League Military Secretariat had other ideas. I was called up for service in the Social Defense Militia and shipped out to Sagittarius to serve in the occupied systems."

Pieter nodded. Getting Oskar to talk about his past was never easy, and he’d never had occasion to overhear him speak about it. But despite that, he knew where the story eventually went. Military hospital work, and then… "I guess seeing the camps made you political?"

Oskar closed his eyes. "You could say that," he admitted. "Yes. Seeing everything I was told, everything I believed, revealed as lies." He shook his head. "It’s the past. I am here now, and here I will stay. Captain Henry has been good to me."

Pieter said nothing. He remembered when Oskar and Brigitte made their way aboard, following a visit to a League colony much like New Hathwell. Henry allowed them to stow away on the Shadow Wolf and covered their escape, for which they opted to work for him. "You gonna go out to see the city, Doctor?"

"No," he answered. "If a League man spots me and knows who I am…" The older man shuddered. "I am quite content to stay here and take inventory. Just as you would prefer to do the same for your equipment, yes?"

"Right." Pieter tested his bandaged hand. "Thanks, Doctor. You're good folk. Not like the other Uitlanders."

"I'm sure you mean a certain other word?" asked Oskar.

"No, I don't," Pieter answered harshly.

"Not for whites, anyway," Oskar added with a bemused smirk.

Pieter didn't answer that, although he knew it was right. It was one of the reasons he didn't miss home.

That was a lie. There were times Pieter did miss home. He missed the fields of grain, the warmth of the orange star that made New Oranje habitable, the sight of the native furred viervoetige herds—literally four-legged or four-pawed, the basic designation stuck—thundering their way down the Kruger Valley as they sought the open grasslands that the Boer farmers had not yet fenced off. He missed his mother's cooking and his sister's jokes. He missed playing "trekkers and savages" with his brothers, Paul and Thomas, and all of those cousins and local boys. He missed his Uncle Maarten's lessons on the family farming equipment.

But he didn't miss his father or the callused hands that had beaten him throughout his childhood. He didn't miss the small-minded ignorance of his neighbors, the bigotry and hatred shown to the "uitlander." The presumption that God had selected the Boers for salvation and already damned other peoples offended his very soul, and their sense of superiority within a society that still judged fellow humans as inferior when they were in a galaxy that had already introduced them to other sapient species offended his soul and his mind.

His father had been particularly ready to throw his slaps and even punches when Pieter said things like that. "We once tried to live with the others, and do you know what they did? They tried to steal our land and wipe us out! We won't fall for that again! The only good uitlander is a dead one!" Pieter sometimes wished he had known then the history of his people, the full history, so he could have pointed out that they’d stolen that land first. It would have merited a full beating, but the moral victory would have been sweet.

Pieter blinked. He realized he was still sitting in the infirmary, staring blankly ahead while Oskar watched quietly. "You and I have that in common," Oskar said.

"What?"

"We both have reasons to go home," he said, "but none as powerful as the reasons why we can't."

Pieter nodded in agreement. "We are a ship of exiles, it seems," he answered. "God, help us all."

"If there is anything like a deity in this uncaring universe, I highly doubt they would care about us," Oskar answered. He smiled thinly. "But I am the Leaguer atheist of the crew, so I'm sure my opinion on the matter is obvious."

The reply from Pieter was a chuckle. The fact that his father would have slapped him for showing amusement at such blasphemy caused the chuckle to turn into a laugh.

* * *

Tia walked into the spacers' bar and enjoyed, for lack of a better term, the smells therein. Human and alien sweat, or whatever passed for such with regard to non-humans, mingled with all of the other substances to be found. Smoke from tobacco, synthetic and natural, joined with the particularly tangy wisps of Tal'mayan sweet smoke and what Tia thought was Saurian kriska. As she neared the bar, the smells were joined by those of the drinks being offered. She flashed a five-escudo note and called out, in Portuguese, for a Thanh's Special. The Thanh rice liquor, a product of her homeworld, Hestia, had a good kick itself, but mixed with single malt Scotch straight from the brewers of Caledonia, it was just the kind of drink she preferred when dealing with old memories.

One such old memory took the stool beside her, the source of the message that had taken her there. He was a tall man, solid but not big, his brown complexion similar to hers. She owed hers to ancestors from Vietnam and Malaya, while Felipe Xiu's mostly came from the Philippines, and further back, from China. Like Tia, he was in a spacer's jacket over a dark-green shirt and black spacer's trousers. The growth of a beard on his face was something new. "Comrade Felipe," she said quietly.

"Comrade Tia." He already had a drink, a Thanh's like hers but straight, no Scotch mixed in. He held up the shot glass, prompting her to do the same. "To fallen comrades."

"To fallen comrades," she agreed. She gulped down the contents of the glass. It was good, strong stuff, and it made itself known as it descended her throat and hit her stomach. It wouldn't be enough to take away sobriety by itself, but it would undoubtedly chip away at it. She signaled for another drink to keep it company. "How have you been?"

"Well enough," he said, his tone cautious. His gray eyes seemed distant. "I sometimes wonder if it is time to take up the government on the amnesty."

Tia narrowed her eyes. "Oh?"

"It's been fourteen years now, Tia. Fourteen years since our revolution failed. I miss being at home."

"Bullshit," Tia growled. "You were never one to give a damn about home. What home did you—did we have? Being helots to the offworld corporations paying us as little as they could to gather our world's wealth for them? You used to say you'd rather die in exile than bare your neck for their boots." A suspicion crossed her mind. She took her next drink first, a jolt of liquid courage to voice it. "Or are you going back to join the Social Solidarity movement?"

"If there is to be any future for the working class of Hestia, it will be in solidarity with the League of Sol," Felipe insisted. "The failure of our revolution—"

"—was because of the League!" Tia shouted. Her voice carried over the bar, but there was no notice from the others. It was a spacers' bar, after all, and every spacer had something that would set them off. "After all of this time, you can't see that? They propped us up, gave us arms, gave us hope, encouraged us to strike, and then betrayed us to the government! Face it, Felipe, they never wanted us to win in the first place."

"Of course they did," Felipe insisted. "But the League has to consider the needs of all oppressed peoples, not just Hestia. Victory for the Hestian working class then might have only led to defeat in the end, if the Coalition took advantage."

Tia rolled her eyes at him but said nothing. It was the old argument again, the same one their League contacts had used after the killing was over, when she woke up on the evacuation ship, half dead from her wounds and mostly dead from the blow to her spirit. To hear Felipe repeat those lies after all those years was infuriating, and her face betrayed that feeling.

"This is exactly why the League turned from us," Felipe said bitterly. "Because you and the others would not listen."

"Oh, I listened," Tia remarked bitterly. "I heard the speeches about the needs of Society being greater than our cause. But let's face the facts, Felipe. The League was more interested in keeping Hestia neutral so they could trade with the megacorps too." She almost spat the word "megacorps," signifying the tremendously powerful corporations in neutral space that grew so wealthy and large that they could dominate planetary governments. Indeed, they nearly became states in of themselves. Memories of the conditions they kept her and her family in rankled, made bitter by the failure that had driven her from her homeworld.

Felipe smacked his hand on the bar. "So they could defeat the Coalition and bring revolution to all of Sagittarius!"

She didn't like the look in his eyes or his enthusiasm, not given what she knew about the League. "I've learned what the League's idea of revolution and the post-capitalist society is, Felipe, and they are no better than capitalists. Worse in most respects."

Felipe nursed his drink instead of replying. Tia used the time to enjoy another. "So this is how it is, then? You will not relent."

"Not to them. Never." Tia shook her head. "I will not drive the megacorps off of Hestia just to be enslaved by the League's precious Society."

"I see. I wish I could persuade you otherwise." Felipe let out a sigh. A sad look came to his face. "Do you remember Quan?"

Tia smiled. "I do, fondly." She did not remark on the abrupt change of topic. The best way to deal with a dispute between old friends was to focus on old memories and, that evening, with a lot of Thanh Specials.

"I remember that time, before the revolution, when we were in the safehouse in Thyssenbourg…"

11

When Miri returned to her rented room, she did so with added and welcome weight. Aside from the bag of food, mostly fruits and vegetables and some self-heating dinners, she was carrying a Burleigh & Armstrong pulse pistol in a small-of-back holster and a pair of small Makarov flechette pistols in ankle holsters. It was perhaps a bit much, but she intended to survive, and the guns gave her options.

She found a call had come from the Kensington Star's owners, Patterson and Yarborough Transport of New Cornwall, usually called P&Y for short. She sent out a response and soon was face-to-face with a young, dark-skinned woman with a New Cornish accent. "Ms. Lupa, I am Patricia Okon, company security. Thank you for getting back to me." She sounded impatient. Miri had kept her waiting.

"I needed to get food," Miri explained. "I came back as quickly as I could."

"Your report makes for interesting reading," Okon said, her tone tense. "You're positive the attacker was a League ship?"

"I've seen them before, ma'am. It was." Miri considered Okon's body language. A healthy skepticism was apparent, but there was no sign yet that she wasn’t trustworthy.

"And you spaced yourself to get away?"

"I did."

Okon's suspicions grew more noticeable. "Why?" she asked pointedly.

"The crew wasn't resisting, and I had no intention of being taken prisoner. I have a record with the League. They'd have spaced me anyway. Without an EVA suit." After the drugs and beatings and whatever other cruelties State Security came up with to punish me for Lowery.

Okon didn't seem surprised. If she were competent, Miri suspected Okon was already certain Karla Lupa was a legend. But Miri wouldn't have been the first spacer to go under an assumed name, especially in neutral space with all of the Coalition—and less frequent League—deserters, ex-pirates, and others with a sordid past. The scrutiny was on Miri's present activities, not her past. "You're lucky the Tokarev brothers were in the area. Otherwise, you'd be dead."

"I'm well aware of that, Ms. Okon."

"So why didn't we get a distress call?" Okon asked. "Kensington Star had a QET."

"I'm not sure, Ms. Okon. I wasn't on watch when the attack came." Miri thought back. "We lost main power, and the ship's drives went down. Captain Lewis called a warning that we were being boarded but told us to stay in quarters. From what I gather, he surrendered almost immediately."

"I suppose there was little more Captain Lewis could have done in the circumstances," Okon said. "I am curious how you escaped."

"Through maintenance access spaces adjacent to my quarters, after the League sealed us in."

Okon jotted down a note. "All right. I'll commence an investigation. Please keep yourself available for further interviews, Ms. Lupa. We'll arrange for a ship to come out to Harron for you immediately."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Miri had nothing more to say and allowed Okon to terminate the call. She turned away from the monitor and considered her next action. Her instincts told her to minimize how much she went out. She had enough supplies to stay in for several days.

But she'd already been seen by many people. P&Y was going to put her under further scrutiny, and that might attract other attention. The League had operatives in the neutral worlds, after all, and she had no illusions that they hadn't been briefed on Miri Gaon. If they had someone in a position to connect Miri Gaon to the existence of Karla Lupa…

That was not a possibility she was willing to risk.

Thankfully, the Coalition had its own intelligence assets in the Trifid Nebula region and the rest of neutral space. They also had a vested interest in keeping Miri Gaon alive and out of League hands, regardless of her official resignation.

Miri picked an orange from her bag of fruit and retrieved a bowl and a knife from the small efficiency kitchen in her room. She returned to the monitor, activated its connection to the extranet, then went to work peeling the orange while considering the wording of the message she would send to her CIS contact.

* * *

Patricia Okon finished her preliminary report on the suspected loss of the Kensington Star. She upgraded it from "possible loss" to "certain." It would not make her employers happy, or at least those responsible for handling the inevitable claims from the families of lost crewmen. Aside from the cost of the ship and cargo, the insurance premiums were going to be a financial hit P&Y could well have done without.

That wasn’t Okon's job to worry about, though, and she didn't. Her job was to find out what happened.

She wasn't sure of Karla Lupa, the only survivor and one who’d had some prior involvement with the League that her record didn't indicate. Okon found it hard to believe that Lupa had just happened to be picked up by the Tokarev brothers, who had their own history with the League.

Okon briefly considered the alternate possibility. Perhaps Karla Lupa worked for the Tokarevs, and it was a false flag operation by the Cyrilgrad pirates, intentionally trying to pin the recent ship disappearances on the League. It might have been even more than that, possibly a Coalition intelligence operation.

Too many possibilities. Not enough solid data.

Either way, Okon submitted the report she had so far, including the interview with Karla Lupa. Then she quit for the night, content that she was doing her job.

She might not have been so content if she knew her company's systems were one of many compromised by a third party.

* * *

Through the liquid-crystal 2D monitors built into his officer's wall, Admiral Hartford was treated to a view as if he were looking out a window. Pluto Base's work continued apace, and they were quickly reaching the point when the operation would commence. Its progress was marked by all the ships showing on his monitor, while the Trifid Nebula was a splendid backdrop to the sight. A quiet, pleased thrill went through Hartford at that prospect.

A tone at his door prompted the admiral to turn back from the view. "Enter," he called out.

Through the door came Commander Yvette Aristide. The tan-skinned woman from the world of Juares was his liaison with State Security external operations, or the agents of the state who operated outside of the League's current control. "Admiral, there is a complication."

Hartford kept a sigh from forming in his throat. There were complications in any endeavor, he reminded himself. "Describe it."

"Intelligence sources indicate that a crew member of the Kensington Star escaped our capture of the ship," Aristide said, her accent distinctly Francophone Caribbean. "Our role in the ship's capture has been indicated by the escapee, and an investigation by the owner is underway, with the support of government authorities on New Cornwall and Hatfield."

Hartford frowned at that. "Our Marines were thorough. No life pods were launched from the ship or its shuttle. How could someone have escaped?"

"We are still analyzing the situation," said Aristide. "As things stand, my guess would be that we will find the ship short one EVA suit."

Incredulity was Hartford's initial response. "You believe they ejected themselves into space?"

"That is the most likely method, yes. State Security will be investigating to ensure there is no treason among the troops observing the captured crews."

The idea was astonishing. What kind of person would be so desperate to escape that they would take such a risk? Hartford was impressed. "Have you checked the list of captives against the known roster of the ship?"

"I have someone on that already," she said. "I felt it necessary to speak to you immediately, however."

"Yes, for good cause." Hartford returned to his seat and slipped deep into thought. There must be a way to turn the situation to his advantage. "At this juncture, discovery would mean disaster. We’ve put too many resources into this operation to scrub it. We’ll have to adjust." He folded his hands together and set his index fingers against his chin. "It appears we may need to arrange to eliminate the survivor."

"Would that not raise suspicions?" Aristide asked, her curiosity evident.

"Potentially, but perhaps not. The important thing is to discredit the escapee. Make their escape seem like collusion, not fortune. The disappearance can be made to look like a guilty pirate slipping away." He thought of something. "Do we know who rescued the survivor?"

"Our best assets attribute it to the Tokarevs of Cyrilgrad."

Hartford chuckled. "Ah, excellent. Their anti-Social attitudes are well-known to this sector. It shouldn't be hard to make it look like this is an endeavor to discredit us. There are worlds that would prefer that to the truth."

"I'll make the arrangements with Commander Li."

"Excellent. And interview the Kensington Star crew to find out what you can about the escapee. I’ll authorize permission for them to be given extra rations for cooperation. I must know more about this person. They sound quite formidable."

"Yes, sir. Permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted."

She left, leaving Hartford to his thoughts. It was, all things told, an unwelcome complication, but one he would adjust to. His plan was still intact and his chance of success nearly assured.

Just before he was ready to depart his office, a message came in from Aristide. It was in two parts, marked high priority.

The first was an additional tidbit from the investigation by the owning company: their internal security division had just authorized a corporate craft to depart New Cornwall for the planet Harron. Hartford was familiar with the detestable place. He also knew it was reasonably close to the system where they’d intercepted the Kensington Star. He would have to speak to his intelligence assets and ensure they investigated.

He held that thought upon review of the second part, a personnel file from Kensington Star. "Karla Lupa" was a cargo hand with a background that, the more he looked at it, the more he was certain was a legend. A cover identity.

Curious. Very curious indeed that someone using a legend bore such fear of capture by the League that she was willing to risk dying alone in the void. That made identifying her all the more important. Hartford relayed her geneprint to the database for State Security.

When he got the result, his curiosity was gone, replaced by determination, even need.

There would be no half measures. Hartford would insist that External Security throw everything into making sure they captured the survivor.

It is as if the universe itself is teasing me. He gazed at the geneprint match in the database and the attached profile. Another operation put in jeopardy by that woman. This time… this time, I will have her. I will not let her ruin my plans a second time!

12

Henry was having his morning coffee at the hangar access door when Piper, Brigitte, and Cera came tottering back to the ship. "A fun night, ladies?" he asked, his voice a little louder than usual.

They gave him a much-deserved death glare.

"We're not due anywhere, so you'll have a chance to sleep it off."

"Wanker's enjoyin' this," Cera grumbled under her breath as they went by at the speed and gait of particularly lethargic zombies.

Henry had expected the three to be out all night, getting up to the kind of thing spacers usually did when in port. He was more surprised to see Tia come in, looking like death warmed over. "You didn't join them, did you?" he asked, truly curious at the prospect. Tia usually didn't go for the port call girls' night out that Cera typically organized.

"An old friend met me. We had things to catch up on," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "I lost count of how much Thanh with Scotch I had."

“Ah, yeah, that stuff can catch up on you. Have any actual blood left in your bloodstream, or are you combustible now?"

"Hell if I know," Tia grumbled.

Henry almost asked if she was okay. It was clear she had other things on her mind than the hangover from too much alcohol. "Well, go get rehydrated. We don't have any calls for pickups yet, so there's no need to rush out."

"Planned on it."

She went on. Content everyone was back, Henry headed toward the ship. He finished the last of the coffee and felt the remaining mental cobwebs of sleep finally clear from his mind. Aside from the prospect of Vitorino having more cargo for them, Pieter wanted the rest of the day to complete an inspection of their Lawrence drive, and Henry had no reason to deny him. He instead considered getting with Felix and Yanik to inspect the Shadow Wolf's weapon systems.

He'd just about gotten to the ramp for the mid-starboard cargo hold when Felix came rushing from the other starboard ramp, a frightened look on his face.

"Felix! Felix, what is it?" Henry called, having to run to catch up before Felix got to the door. "What's wrong?"

"Jules," he said. "They're arresting Jules."

* * *

The taxi dropped the two off down the road from the mission. The driver refused to go the whole way the moment he saw the black helicars in front of the old church. Henry and Felix rushed up as quickly as they could. The vehicles were mostly unmarked, except for one emblazoned with the seal of the Republic Security Service.

Most of the vandalism was gone, cleaned up by hard work the previous day, but the mission was crawling with people in dark uniforms, searching every corner, every nook and cranny. Each had a police insignia on them. Two of them stood near Jules, who was handcuffed and sitting quietly in a pew.

One of the uniformed men at the door stopped the two from advancing farther. "You must leave," he said. "This institution is being searched for anti-constitutional materials."

"The only things you'll find here are hymnals and Bibles," Felix said. "What's going on?"

"We ask the questions," another of the dark-suited men said. He approached and flashed a holographic ID, identifying him as Inspector João Travada of the Security Service. "What is your connection to this place?"

Henry suspected coming here was going to get them into trouble, too, but he couldn't abandon Jules, and Felix certainly wouldn't. "Reverend Rothbard is my brother," Felix said.

"I see. Then we will have to take you in for interrogation as well."

"He's a member of my crew, and we work for Minister Vitorino," Henry said, hoping that might give pause.

It didn't. The only response was a small smile. "I see. This does little to help you. We do not answer to that corrupt man. We answer to Minister Caetano, and she personally ordered this raid. We have actionable intelligence that Faith Outreach Mission is part of an anti-constitution organization in league with the Coalition Intelligence Service."

"That's bullcrap!" Felix shouted. "You're just picking on him because—"

Henry grabbed him. "Felix, not another word," he barked.

Felix gave him a fierce, frightened glance but said nothing. More and more of the uniformed people were starting to gather around them. A number had pulled their firearms from holsters.

"You are careful," Travada observed. "And working for Vitorino, I assume you are James Henry of the Shadow Wolf?"

Henry was not gratified at the idea that the Lusitanian Security Service had any interest in him, even if it was a distinct possibility, given his link to Vitorino. Since there was no point in denying it, he nodded. "I am."

"We have questions for you, Captain," Travada said, "in connection with our investigations into the Minister's business dealings, and now, it seems, your personal connection to a possible enemy of the state." He made a gesture, and two suited men approached them from behind while others lifted firearms to ready positions. "We are now taking you into custody. Hand over your weapons, and you will receive them back, should we release you."

For a moment, Henry thought Felix might fight. He had little respect for any of the more authoritative governments in neutral space, and a fierce belief in natural rights. But after exchanging a glance, both pulled their weapons carefully from their holsters—Henry's from the hip, Felix's at the small of the back—and gripped the barrels to offer them to their captors.

"Wise men." Travada nodded and smiled. "I assure you, if you are innocent, we have no intention of holding you. The same goes for your brother. Now, if you will please follow me."

* * *

The individual sleeping quarters for the mission were sparsely furnished, given how many were empty for want of permanent personnel. Henry was separated from Felix and assigned to one under guard. Their commlinks were taken, as well, to be held by their guards.

Something about the situation didn't feel right. Granted, a lot didn't, but beyond the fact that Lusitania's semi-authoritarian government had them in custody, their behavior was off. By reputation, Henry imagined the RSS would have at least carted them away wordlessly, not held them in place. On top of that, they were far more polite than usual toward suspected "enemies of the state" or "foreign operatives."

What is going on? Henry stared out the window at the barrio when he heard the door open. He turned and watched two armed, suited men enter. They flanked the entrance and waited.

The third figure to come in was a woman of striking appearance—some would even say beauty—with a brown complexion and dark hair. Her blue eyes glistened, fierce, cold, and utterly impersonal. She wore a business suit with trousers, the color a deep green that matched the green on the Lusitanian tricolor flag pins she wore on her lapels.

Behind her was a thirtysomething man in similar business dress with the same pins on his lapels, carrying a digital tablet of his own.

Henry almost did a double take. It was Minister Cristina Caetano herself.

"James Alfred Henry," she said, her Portuguese accent thick and rich. "Formerly Lieutenant Colonel James Henry, Coalition Defense Force. You know who I am. This is my chief of staff, João Carvalho." She motioned to the man accompanying her.

Henry nodded in recognition of the greeting. "Hello, and the rank is major," he corrected quietly.

"Only due to the terms of your discharge," she said. "Which, let us be honest, Colonel, was not deserved." She pulled one of the chairs to the table, sat, then motioned for him to do the same. "We have something to discuss."

Henry sighed quietly as he considered the gesture then decided accepting it was safer. He went to another chair and sat, feeling very much like a man lowered into a shark tank inside of a cage that was more rust than metal. "I pled guilty," he reminded her. "I'm responsible for the testing failure on the Laffey."

"You did. There are many reasons why a man in your position would have." Caetano folded her hands together. Her blue eyes bore down on him with the intensity of a laser, scrutinizing him extensively. "Threats against friends and comrades. Perhaps another form of blackmail. Or appeal to patriotism, I suppose, to protect the honor of the Coalition Defense Force at the expense of your own."

All of the above. Henry shifted in the chair. "I'm afraid I can't talk about it," he said, knowing his expression was giving something away. "And I have to admit, there's not much left in me in terms of patriotism, really."

"I would expect not. Patriotism must be earned. The state must provide for the nation to prove itself worthy of their loyalty. It must defend them, their honor, their lives. The Coalition failed you, as it has failed so many others."

"Can't deny that," Henry said. "But still good people in it. Good people everywhere."

"So there are," Caetano conceded. "Do you see yourself as one of them, Colonel?"

"That's Captain, not Colonel, Madame Minister," Henry corrected. When Caetano didn't react with hostility, he shook his head. "And no, not really. If I were good, well, I wouldn't be where I am today. I can say that." An unkind thought came to him. I'd be imprisoned on Lambert's Lament, spending thirty-hour days mining ore.

"I see. Interesting. You regret whatever your arrangement with your superiors was. You do see yourself as dishonored and degraded." Caetano nodded at him in understanding. "I see value in occasional pragmatism, but I admit that I can sympathize with such. Compromise can so often lead to letting others undermine what is right. What is needed." Caetano smiled at him. "I wish you were a Lusitanian, Captain."

"I'm not, and honestly, I'm not sure I like judging people by where they came from."

"Given the files on your crew, I would think not." Caetano brought up a digital pad. "Your first mate is a failed socialist revolutionary. Your second mate, a Saurian draft dodger. A couple of League defectors, and your friend Felix Rothbard is a fellow cashiered CDF officer… yes, you have quite the crew, don't you? Including some who still have prices on their heads." Caetano gave him a thoughtful look. "Indeed, I could attain quite a lot of favor in Thyssenbourg and Rand if I were to turn Tia Nguyen over to the Hestian government—"

Despite everything, Henry reacted with anger, jumping from his seat. "They're good people, and they don't deserve that!"

Henry's outburst prompted Caetano's guards to pull weapons. Even Carvalho stood, as if ready to defend Caetano from physical attack. She held a hand up, still smiling and thoughtful. "You are loyal to your people, Captain. Very loyal."

"They're all my crew. Hand-picked." Henry glared into those cold blue eyes and remained standing, not allowing Caetano's guards to intimidate him. "Damn right, I'm loyal, and they deserve better than they got."

"Just as you deserved better," Caetano observed. "Well, I cannot help but respect your protection of those under your charge, Captain Henry. But I must do what I must to protect my people. My entire world."

"Does that include letting your followers ransack a church?" Henry asked heatedly.

Caetano shrugged. "An excess of patriotic passion. It cannot be controlled but merely channeled." She leaned forward. "Now, sit down and let us get to business, yes? I have decided I can work with you."

However much he didn't want to work with her, Henry had a feeling he wouldn't be allowed to say no. Usually, one didn't say no to people who had a gun to their best friends’ heads or threatened to sell their second-in-command to people who would humiliate and kill her. He obeyed the request to sit. "I can't imagine I have a choice."

"Of course you do," Caetano said. "Just as I have a choice on whether or not to charge your childhood friend and his brother with sedition and anti-constitutional activity."

"Exactly my point." Henry forced any ill grace from his voice. Felix and Jules were counting on him. "So, what do you have in mind?"

There was just a tiny bit of satisfaction on Caetano's face, the kind one had when she’d judged a situation correctly. "You are aware of the loss of many ships over the last several months?"

"I am."

"One of the most recent ships to disappear is the Kensington Star from New Cornwall," she explained. "Owned by Patterson & Yarborough. You've heard of them?"

"I have. Roughly. Another of the interstellar transport firms that operates throughout Spinward Sagittarius."

"The word is they have a witness from the ship. One who escaped following its capture." Caetano's stare was growing fiercer. "These disappearances have done damage to our economy. They must be stopped. I must know if there is truly a survivor from the Kensington Star and meet with them to determine the source of these attacks."

"And you want me to pick up the alleged survivor?"

"I do." Caetano folded her hands together. "Her name is Karla Lupa. According to the report, she is in Sektatsh on Harron."

Things fell into place for Henry. "Vitorino has business interests there. You think I'll be taking a cargo there to cover for the trip?"

"I am aware of the nature of his businesses, so yes, you will. I suspect he will give you the order now to get you offworld, since it seems I am interested in you and he will want time to take measures to protect you." She held her hands together in her lap. "I want you to find this survivor. I am prepared to pay you handsomely for the chance to speak directly to her, should you judge her authentic, or for you to provide proof that she is a fraud. Either way, I must know." Caetano raised her hand to cut him off before he could speak, as if already sure of what he would say. "Additionally, I will ensure the party newspaper retracts the claims against the Faith Mission Outreach and provide full official protection for your friend's church." She gestured to Carvalho.

He wordlessly offered Henry the digital reader he was holding. Henry took it and read the display. It was an official order clearing Jules and Felix. It also clarified the extent of his financial compensation if he brought an authentic Kensington Star survivor to Lusitania for her to interview or the proof there was none. It was quite a lot of money for passenger transport.

Caetano smiled thinly. "Of course, you must say nothing of this to Minister Vitorino."

"Very kind of you," Henry said. It was, to the extent that she was putting him in her debt, and he didn't like that. "Although Vitorino's going to be suspicious."

"I will keep up appearances of an investigation," she said. "As things stand, he is already calling my people and insisting on your release, so I will play the magnanimous comrade to my fellow Cabinet Minister with forced grace, as he would expect. Our deal will be off, by the way, should you alert him to your mission on my behalf."

Henry acknowledged the point—and the threat—with a nod. He still didn't like getting caught up with Caetano, not to mention possibly being caught between her and Vitorino, but he knew he had no choice if he wanted to protect Felix, Jules, Tia, and the others, when it came down to it. He fully believed Caetano would be just as thorough and vicious with them as she would be with the Rothbard brothers.

With some remaining trepidation, he offered his hand. "Minister Caetano, you have a deal."

Caetano took his hand and shook it. "Excellent." She looked up to her men and started speaking in clipped Portuguese. "Inform the inspector to release the prisoners and withdraw all personnel from the premises. The mission will remain under observation only."

"Yes, Madame Minister," one said, stepping out.

"I look forward to your success, Captain," Caetano said, switching back to English. "And should you succeed, you may find that in the coming future, my gratitude will be far more valuable than Duarte Vitorino's."

"Yeah," Henry said, considering how things were going on Lusitania. "I think it will be."

And I'm going to hate it even more.

13

The last of Caetano's people left shortly after she did. Carvalho quietly passed a data disc to Henry before leaving, murmuring, "From the minister."

Jules saw them out through the newly repaired front door and turned back. The mess wasn't quite as bad as it'd been after the ransacking, but it was clear that he was looking at another cleanup job.

"You go ahead and stay," Henry said to Felix. He held up his commlink. "Vitorino wants to see me ASAP."

"As late as it is, probably not at his office."

"No. At the spaceport. He's got cargo for us."

"He did help us with Caetano, at least? He got us released?" When Felix saw Henry's resigned expression, he sighed. "He didn't."

"I'll explain when we're back on the Shadow Wolf, Felix." Henry gestured around the church. "It's… well…" He gave Felix a pleading look to not carry on.

Felix narrowed his eyes and shook his head. He turned to his brother. "Jules, whatever's going on, I don't suppose I can talk you into laying low?"

"I have a service in two days," Jules said, "and the soup kitchen hasn't been open all day."

"Right. I don't suppose you've got any staff to help?"

"Probably fewer than I had yesterday." Jules shrugged. "I don't blame them. The PdDN are scary people, as are the security services. They appreciate what I do, but they have families to think of."

"I'd stay and help—"

"Go on, big brother," Jules insisted, grinning with that benevolent, annoying grin of his. "I'll survive. And my people may come back when they see I haven't been taken."

Felix gave Henry a pointed look. All Henry could do was shake his head and chuckle. "That Rothbard stubbornness always wins," Henry said. "Even against itself. We should get going. Minister Vitorino's got limits to his patience."

"Right." Felix was on Henry's heels as they departed.

Before the door shut, Jules bowed his head. "Godspeed," he said just loudly enough that they heard him.

* * *

They returned to the spaceport in another taxi. The driver, a local girl named Zia, left both reasonably convinced they wouldn't live to see their ship again, but since her driving was because of Henry's explicit instructions to get them to the spaceport immediately, he felt obligated to give the full tip he'd intended, even if he was still getting the color back in his cheeks.

Hangar D8 had a couple of cargo trucks against the dock’s loading platform. Vidia and Brigitte were going back and forth with their anti-grav pallet jacks, ferrying cargo into the holds of the Shadow Wolf. Yanik was observing. "Minister Vitorino is taking a private call in the hangar office. He awaits your presence," he informed Henry and Felix on their approach, "and another potential client is in the ship galley, waiting to see you."

A headache threatened to strike Henry. Balancing Caetano and Vitorino was bad enough, but a third client was too much. He was already determined to say no, regardless of the financial reward offered. Knowing my luck, it's Lou wanting another run like the Yan'katar job.

Without asking, Felix said, "I'll go get a jack too. The sooner we get this loaded, the sooner we get this over with."

The hangar office wasn’t meant for a single user but for whoever happened to be renting the hangar. It thus lacked the kind of personal touch that Henry's office on the ship had, with basic furnishings, a simple public commlink connection, and workspace. Vitorino was on his commlink when Henry approached. "…and I am not to be pushed around on this," he was saying, his voice heated. "I am a member of the Cabinet, too, and my party has the most seats." Whatever the response on the other end, his reaction was a cruel little chuckle. "Your read on the political situation is astute, but do not think you are immune to attack, Minister. Keep your tread with the rest of the government, or you may find that you have more than enough enemies to block you. Now, I have business to attend to, so good night." He tapped the commlink to kill the call and turned to Henry. "There you are, Captain. State Security did not mistreat you?"

"Not me," he said, "outside of the wrongful arrest. Reverend Julian Rothbard does have to clean up his mission again, though."

A frustrated sigh came from Vitorino. "I sometimes wish to heaven Caetano was just a brute. The woman's political instincts are sharp. She understands the frustrations of our people and how to direct them."

"That’s never a good combination." Henry kept a straight face when he added, "Thank you for helping to spring us, by the way."

"It took some doing, but I think I can get Caetano to leave you alone. Your preacher friend, maybe not. But right now, the important thing is your cargo. We have a steady contract with a high-ranking nobleman on Harron to provide him with fine wines and liquors from Lusitania," Vitorino said. "He has a taste for our finer drink."

"Aren't the Harr'al even more sensitive to alcohol than humans?"

"So I'm told. It is a status thing, mostly. And, a trade envoy told me, a way to test the loyalty of his household. For all I know, he may even execute people by drowning them in it." Vitorino shook his head before indicating the digital pad on the desk. "The contract is a lucrative one, regardless, and you'll get your usual commission."

"Fine enough." Henry sat at the desk and reached for the pad. The contract language was standard, but he read each line just for safety's sake. "So, the Calnin… which of the enclaves do they do their business through?"

"Sektatsh," answered Vitorino. "It is one of the nicer enclaves on that wretched planet. Although you may wish to be careful outside of the alien zone. Human slaves typically fetch high prices in Harr'al society." There was evident disgust on the Lusitanian man's face. “Barbarians,” he practically spat.

"Lots of those around."

"But few as wealthy. And the Harr'al rulers are quite capable of playing us against our neighbors to prevent anyone from conquering them as they richly deserve."

"Yeah. Bad people aren't always dumb, unfortunately." Henry gave the last lines of the transport contract a final read and signed his name. He presented the digital pad back to Vitorino. "There you go, Minister. A pleasure to do business with you, as always."

"A pleasure indeed, Captain." Vitorino pocketed the device and stood. "And now that you have signed on for the run"—he walked to the door as he spoke in measured tones then waited until he'd quietly shut the door—"I would like to discuss an off-the-books mission."

Henry fought to keep a neutral expression even as suspicion filled him about Vitorino's real angle. "Oh?"

"I admit I have three motives in sending you to Harron." Vitorino folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Obviously, my wines and liquors do need to be delivered. Secondly, I want to keep you off of Minister Caetano's scanners for a while, until I can make arrangements to keep her from acting against you again. And finally, have you heard about the loss of the Kensington Star?"

With his suspicion about Vitorino confirmed, Henry's fight to keep his expression neutral became hard-pressed. "Not about that ship," he lied, remembering Caetano's terms. "Another missing ship already?"

"Not far from Harron," Vitorino confided. "I have friends on New Cornwall."

Henry nodded. Of course, you do.

"Including in their business community and government. They inform me that the company that owns the Kensington Star has initiated an investigation into the loss."

"Obviously, but I doubt they'll do any better."

"They might." Vitorino's voice softened to nearly a whisper, as if he were afraid that someone outside might still hear them. "Because they have a survivor."

It took every iota of control Henry had to feign surprise. "A survivor?" He drew in a breath, taking on a thoughtful look he hoped would fool Vitorino.

"A crew member of the Kensington Star. Alleged, I hasten to add. Currently on Harron, in Sektatsh."

"You want me to look into it?"

"Discreetly. Report to me what you find. If you can convince her to come with you, so much the better." Vitorino's expression was earnestly serious. "As Lusitania's Trade Minister, this situation is my direct concern. The escalation of the ship disappearances must be stopped. The increased costs to interstellar trade will harm our economy. The spending to raise an interstellar fleet capable of patrolling all of the spacelanes would not only strain our coffers but might excite an arms race with our neighboring worlds, which would bring undesired attention from the Coalition and the League."

"With bigger fleets, your participation in the war would be all the more valuable," Henry noted. "All right. I'll look into it when I get there."

"Thank you, Captain. As always, you will be amply rewarded."

Knowing very much he wouldn't be, Henry smiled and nodded. "As always."

* * *

The loading was nearly complete when Vitorino departed. Henry waited until he was gone before boarding the ship and heading to the galley. He found Oskar and Cera present with their guest at one of the two tables. Neither looked very comfortable.

The visitor was dressed like any other Lusitanian. His skin was light brown and his hair dark. Anyone looking at him would presume he was from the Moroccan portion of Lusitania.

Henry knew better. A true headache was coming on. "Major al-Lahim," he sighed.

"Captain." Major Abdul Rahman al-Lahim nodded and offered his hand. "You've had a busy day. I was afraid Caetano might arrest you."

Henry grudgingly took it. The major was the local intelligence officer for the Coalition, working out of the embassy in a covered job. On occasion, he paid for small transport jobs, operatives going to other worlds and the like. When Henry needed the money, he took them. "She almost did," Henry finally said. "So you're the potential client. Sorry, Major, but I've already got a job right now."

"I noticed," al-Lahim said. "But you independent spacers can always use more cash, right? I'm offering you a pretty credit for it." He pointedly glanced at the others in the room.

Not in the mood for yet more conspiring and secrecy, Henry nevertheless relented. On the occasions when al-Lahim gave them jobs, he paid too well to dismiss him. "Follow me," he instructed.

Al-Lahim stood and allowed Henry to lead him through the ship’s corridor to his office. Henry shut the soundproof door and started to walk around the desk, while al-Lahim found the other chair. "Where are you headed?" al-Lahim asked.

"Harron. Sektatsh."

"Ah." Al-Lahim smiled. "Well, how fortunate for me. That's where I want you to go."

Henry forced a wince off his face. The coincidence was too much. He wants the survivor too. "What do you want?"

"While you are present, I'd like you to make contact with someone in the city for me. She has signaled to indicate that she is in potential danger." Al-Lahim pulled a digital reader from his jacket. "And if she asks, give her a ride back here so we can get her out of the region."

"Who is she?"

"One of yours now. A spacer. But she was one of ours once. She did an enormous service for the Coalition, one that has had a positive effect upon the war. She may be the person most responsible for the prospect of real peace talks and bringing our people home."

Henry listened then nodded quietly. An end to the war seemed so unreal. But the word on the GalNet was that peace talks were soon to begin, and the League was even bringing back a whole bunch of prisoners taken over the decades. How many of them will be wrecks from being socialized, I don't want to imagine. At the same time, a feeling of intense skepticism came to him. He'd seen enough of the League to know they wouldn't give up the war easily. They saw their expansion to rule over the entire galaxy as something of a religious writ with scientific inevitability thrown in. But then again, they might decide that a century of peace to deal with problems back "home" is useful.

Either way, that wasn't the point. He wasn't sure al-Lahim was being completely forthright, since spies and their handlers never were, but if this ex-operative was responsible for something like that, then helping her seemed the right thing to him.

So potentially two passengers I'll have to keep secret from each other and from everyone else. If only he didn't pay so well. Henry gave al-Lahim a nod. "All right. I'll do it."

The intelligence officer appeared relieved. "Excellent. Here." He activated the reader then handed it to Henry.

Henry looked it over. A woman of faint-brown complexion and dark, chocolate-brown eyes looked back at him. She looked Semitic to him, and the name "Miriam Gaon" at the top of the file identified her as Hebrew, probably Mizrahi or Sephardic. Her service record was entirely redacted.

"You'll find her at the ISU Hostel in Sektatsh," al-Lahim said, standing. "You'll get payment upon her informing me of the contact or her arrival, should she need extraction."

"Agreed," Henry said. "Understand I've got other work to see to, so I might not get results right away."

"I will, but I urge you to make contact with her quickly. The League has an active KC order out on her."

What am I getting myself into? Henry leaned back in his chair, seeking a more comfortable position. Oskar from the League had the same thing: "kill or capture." Regardless, having already committed, Henry went to the door to let al-Lahim out.

Yanik was waiting. "The cargo is secure, sir," he said. "We are overseeing final fuel and launch checks. Tia estimates we can launch within the hour."

"Alert me when we're ready, and escort Major al-Lahim off the ship."

"Yes, sir." Yanik nodded once, in that taciturn way he did, to al-Lahim. The intelligence officer inclined his head and took the first step.

Henry closed the door then returned to his desk. His headache was intense, and he decided to numb it a bit with some of his favorite poison. After considering but rejecting some of the remaining New Virginia bourbon from his family, he opted for the New Hebridean whiskey Felix had given him for his birthday. He poured himself a shot then gulped it down, dealing with the effects as he always did.

After taking a second drink, he decided he might as well check Caetano's data. He took the disc and inserted it into the computer terminal on his desk. The holovid screen activated, displaying the file on Karla Lupa, including, as expected, her profile picture.

"Oh damn," Henry swore, examining the picture and the one on the digital reader al-Lahim left behind, thus confirming that Karla Lupa and Miriam Gaon were the same person.

His headache got worse. Much worse.

14

The dim night lights of Sektatsh would’ve been visible through the window of the room rented out to Karla Lupa, had Miri not closed the blinds and curtains on all of them. She preferred her solitude, checking the vidlink channels before going to bed to get some much-desired sleep.

At first, there was only the gentle nothingness of slumber, but it gave way to the sensation of being somewhere. Miri found herself standing, wrists and ankles shackled, before a group of grim-faced League officers.

"Put the traitor in," one ordered, and powerful arms grabbed her and dragged her down the ranks of League officers.

Intense terror gripped her at the realization of what was about to happen, as ahead, the doors beyond led to the blackness of space. That was how the League punished treason, after all: spacing.

She struggled against the grips on her arms, but they were far too strong. Inhumanly so. She couldn't escape.

To either side of her, the figures changed. No longer was she flanked by League personnel but people in prisoner outfits, the drab gray jumpsuits of a League resocialization camp. She realized she was clad in one too. Regardless, their hatred and disgust for her were more apparent than what League personnel had shown. Each face was familiar to her, and she knew their hatred was deserved.

"Stop. Please, just stop," she pleaded, even though Miri knew it would do her no good. "Please…"

Angry shouts of "traitor!" answered her pleas. Her captors opened the inner airlock door and threw her in.

She struggled to stand in her chains but could not before the door slid to a close. She pounded on the door with her shackled hands. "Please, don't do this!"

"It's what you deserve, traitor," a voice of the past said. She turned in the narrow confines of the airlock and faced two figures wearing camp jumpsuits, a man and a woman. Both were in their late twenties or early thirties, in the prime of life, gaunt but determined, just as she remembered them.

"Chris," she said, her voice thick with guilt. "Annette."

Their eyes, Chris's brown and Annette's blue, were cold and hostile. Their pale skin was the color of marble, save for rings of angry purple and red around their necks and dried blood trailing from their nostrils and lips. "You betrayed us, Miri," Annette said coldly, her Gascon-accented English from Lowery's New Girande continent. "We trusted you."

"We could have made it if not for you," Chris said. His accent was Lowerian English, a softer accent of Australian origin. He pointed an accusing finger at Miri, whose heart quivered with guilt at the sight of them, then directed the same finger to the ring around his neck. "It took me sixteen minutes to die!"

"Twelve! Dangling from the gallows like an animal!"

"You betrayed us!" Chris spat. "You killed us!"

"No," Miri said, although it was more of a whimper. She knew, deep down, that they were right. "No. You don't understand, I had to. I had to," she insisted.

"Why did you betray us?" demanded Annette.

"For the mission," Miri said. "I'm sorry, but my mission was to be accepted by the League, not to fight the occupation. I had to get into a place to learn their plans, their secrets. I… I had to make them think I was one of them."

"But you didn't have to betray us," charged Annette.

"It was the only safe thing to do," Miri insisted. "Whether or not your attempt failed, if they found out I knew and said nothing, they would never let me work anywhere important. I had to make them think I was loyal!"

Chris shook his head furiously. "You could have said you were ignorant of our plans! We wouldn't have betrayed you!"

"I couldn't know that! I… I had to be certain." Tears ran down Miri's face. "I had to be trustworthy to them!"

"How many of us had to die for your precious mission?”

Miri wept as she tried to count. How many others in the camp had I denounced? How many others afterward had I allowed to suffer, all to keep my place? It was a terrible job, but she'd done it, and so had positioned herself to do considerable damage to the League. That was something to be proud of.

"You are a traitor to us, to all of the people of Lowery," Chris said.

"I-I did it to save Lowery, to save us all!"

"And look how well you did that," he snarled. "With all of the people you've hurt, what gives you the right to live?"

"I…" On an instinctive level, Miri wanted to live. But the question, Chris's question, was one that had plagued her over and over. She had hurt people to protect her cover.

"See?" Annette shook her head. "Even you know the truth."

In one joint motion, the two slammed their fists into a control panel. The outer airlock door opened with a roar as the vacuum of the void sucked the atmosphere from the airlock. The force of the decompression sucked Miri with it. She screamed, but there was little sound to it as the vacuum violently sucked the air from her lungs. Her skin grew cold, and her sight failed as the fluid in her eyes bubbled away.

She awoke then immediately took her head into her hands and breathed deeply, greedily, as if to reassure her lungs that they were not in a vacuum and they had access to breathable air. In her panic, she checked the room around her. Through the dim lighting, she made out the furnishings of the rented hotel room in the ISU center.

With time to calm from the feeling that she'd been spaced, Miri lay back down. Her hand slipped under her pillow and felt the hard surface of her pulse pistol, which she drew her fingers away from, reassured. Her heart still pounded from the nightmare while old guilt and the blame that she always struggled with filled her.

Christopher Tobay and Annette Zens, those poor souls. Poor, brave souls. They'd been clever, finding the weaknesses in the League's security at the socialization camp, and quietly built up the means for a mass escape. If they'd succeeded, they would have formed the backbone of a viable resistance movement.

Their main mistake had been bringing her into the plan.

It would always haunt her. If she'd said nothing, if she'd let their plan go off and merely refused to leave, maybe that would have been enough to keep her in the League's good graces. At the time, the risk seemed too high. The camp's overseer, Director Bendtsen, was not a trusting woman, her subordinates barely more so, and given the punishing work details Miri worked with Chris and Annette, she would’ve quickly fallen under suspicion that she couldn't afford. When she'd weighed the benefit to her mission for betraying them, well, the mission was everything.

She still remembered the warm spring day when the League executed the two. They went to the noose bravely, urging the people of Lowery to resist the occupation until an infuriated Director Bendtsen ordered them dropped.

By design, their necks did not snap, and they died slow, painful, terrible deaths, in full view of Miri and all of the others. "For those who defy Society, punishment can never be too harsh," Bendtsen informed the assembled. It had the desired effect, as no further escapes were planned.

They were only the first denouncements Miri made until she was declared properly socialized, putting her on the track to accomplish her mission. They were also the most painful and had the harshest consequences.

In the darkness of her room, Miri's guilt, fully resuscitated by the nightmare, kept her awake. She kept thinking about Chris and Annette and about the dreams they'd had, cruelly ended by the League. They’d been brave. Torment filled her soul at the thought that she'd been wrong to betray them, regardless of the outcome to her mission.

It would have been easy to say that their deaths were not in vain and that by doing what she did, Miri guaranteed Lowery's eventual liberation. It would have been a comfort to tell them that their people were free because of what happened and hear them speak and forgive her due to that outcome.

But that wasn't going to happen. All Miri had was the certain knowledge that she'd enabled the terrible deaths of two brave, good people, and she would carry the burden of that knowledge for the rest of her days.

* * *

Miri Gaon would have had another reason to not sleep, had she known about the call going on just a block or so away in one of the other Alien Quarter residences.

Allan Kepper was not a big man, but he was probably the most terrifying one most people came across. The vacant look in his sky-blue eyes made him seem lifeless or, perhaps more accurately, soulless. There was rarely a trace of emotion on his face.

The same was not true of what was within him. If emotion rarely showed on his face, it was because Kepper had trained himself to keep his expression blank, lest he warn those around him of the burning urges within, which he kept in check until he could fulfill them. And when he did, the removal of his self-repression drove him to acts even he was surprised by.

That he was a sociopath was undeniable. Some might instead have used the term psychopath. Sadist, he accepted, though only his victims ever saw that side of him. He was, after all, a cautious person.

He sat in front of his vidlink, the call being routed through numerous proxy sites, as always. On the other end of the call was Commander Chantavit Li of the Bureau of State and Social Safety, External Security Service, the agency responsible for foreign intelligence and operations in the League of Sol. Li was of mixed Indian and Chinese descent, with darker East Asian skin, while Kepper's was more of a swarthy light tone. When he spoke English, it was with a light Anglo-American accent. "You're paying an awful lot for one spacer."

"I'm paying for her condition," Li said. As always, he spoke as if he was inherently superior to Kepper, and the expression on his face matched. He looked like an overtaxed teacher explaining something to a particularly stupid or unruly child.

Kepper sometimes considered how entertaining it would be to wipe that look off Li's face, but his caution restrained him. The League paid well for his services, better than most, and he was starting to run short of funds again. Besides, having to keep killing the agents they sent to murder him would get tiresome. "Simple grab and bag, your people pick her up?"

"Yes. She must be intact. We need to debrief her and ensure she is capable of facing a proper punishment for her crimes against Society."

"Right." Kepper didn't roll his eyes. Society, to him, was overrated. "All right, money's good. Got an image?"

Li tapped something off-screen. Kepper's digital reader confirmed he was receiving a file. He checked it. The image of a woman with pale bronze skin appeared. She looked Semitic, and her name made him guess she was Hebrew. "Huh. Another deserter?"

"Worse. It's why we're not paying for termination but capture. She has a lot to answer for, Kepper."

"Right." Kepper smiled wryly. "Well, you're the employer. I'll get to work."

"See that you do, before she slips away. Li out."

Li's image disappeared. Kepper used his digital reader to transfer the file to the holoviewer, giving him a better look at his quarry. She was an older woman at the beginning of middle age, he would have guessed, no older than forty-five. She wouldn't necessarily have stood out. But given the file, she was likely going to show up at the ISU center, if she hadn't already. He would start hunting her there.

He idly wondered how much of a screamer she was, but he shut that thought down with practiced efficiency. It was a grab and bag, not a grab and cut, so no time for urges.

As always, the job came first.

* * *

Chantavit Li was no sooner done with Kepper than he got the automated message from his contact. He read the text on his secured reader, its light the only illumination in his living quarters in the League embassy in Gamavilla.

Subject has secured crew to find the target. Will bring target here. Will message when target is on planet.

Li shook his head. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at his ally's willingness to show initiative, regardless of his expressly given instructions. It was, indeed, quite difficult to get government officials to behave. But he would not risk the capture of Miri Gaon to whatever bumbling thugs his ally sent. She was too smart for that, too capable. No, Kepper would do. He was a vicious beast, but he was a controlled one at least.

The entire thing made Li feel sick, and it reminded him of why he hated this work. He detested being involved with the Lusitanians, the Galters, the Hestians, and every other anti-Social planet in the whole blasted region. They were all fractious people in need of the unity of Society, and he looked forward to when they would be saved from their own base impulses.

Li was, like many in his line of work, a true believer. He believed in the collective mission of Society, to bring peace and order and prosperity to humanity and other sapient species through the enlightenment of Society. He believed in ending the calamitous effects of crass, selfish individualism and ensuring that all had a place in the grand unified tapestry he'd grown up within. While Miri Gaon's capture, debriefing, and death would not necessarily bring forward the day of victory, at least not by itself, it would serve as a further deterrent toward those who would defy Society.

After all, individual beings were little more than scared, foolish animals seeking base desires or empty superstitions to stave off the terror of mortality. Li, on the other hand, knew he was going to die one day, but he felt no fear about that. Society was what mattered.

Society was immortal where individuals were not.

Li returned to his other duties with that thought. Admiral Hartford's plan was nearly ready, and he would have to play his role to bring it to fruition and ensure the success of Society.

15

Henry waited until their first jump before he called everyone together. Cera and Yanik would be observing from the bridge while everyone else joined him in the galley. He broke the news to an audience of frowning faces.

Tia's frown was the worst. "Just what have you gotten us into, Jim?" she asked.

"I don't know yet," Henry answered. "This whole situation is a complete—"

"A complete clusterf—cockup, if you ask me," Felix said. "Christ, Jim, how could you make a deal with that fascist?"

"Because she had us by the balls," Henry replied frankly. "You and Jules were going to be arrested as enemies of the state. She threatened the others too." He glanced at Tia. "Especially you. She talked about handing you over to the Hestian government."

Tia paled and swallowed nervously.

"I suppose Brigitte and I would be handed over to the League as well," Oskar said quietly, knowing that would have meant death for him and possibly her. "I understand why you've done this, sir."

"But we might get made by the League anyway," Brigitte said. "You're telling me this spacer we're after is some former Coalition superspy they're hunting?"

"Something like that," Henry said. "And from what I've seen of Ms. Karla Lupa's record, it looks like she might be a legend. The kind a retired spy would use."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Felix said.

"If we help someone they have a KC order on, doesn't that mean the League might declare us enemies too?" Piper asked.

"Distinctly possible," Henry said.

"Then,” she paused, “we'll never be safe." Piper glanced around at the others. "They'll never let us go. We'll have their agents after us everywhere."

"Jim, this is a bad job," Tia said. "I can feel it. If we go through with this, we're going to suffer for it."

"If we don't, my brother gets thrown in a hole and probably shot," Felix pointed out. He glared at Tia.

Tia glared back. "Your brother should wise up and get out of Lusitania, then. And if he wants to be a religious martyr so bad, well, let him. I didn't sign up to die for your religion!"

"At least my brother's got a real cause, one that makes lives better." Felix's voice grew heated. "The only cause you ever fought for was dictatorship!"

"Dictatorship?" Tia's cheeks reddened. She rose to her feet, her eyes full of anger. "You want dictatorship? Just look at what the corps do to my people! Including some of your precious 'freedom-loving' capitalists in the Coalition. We were fighting to free ourselves from oppression!"

Felix got on his feet too. "You’d end up oppressing yourselves anyway! You Socialists always form dictatorships—you can't help it! You always want to tell people how to—"

A loud whistle interrupted Felix. Henry pulled his fingers from his lips and bellowed, "Both of you, sit down and shut up!"

Still glaring fiercely at each other, they obeyed.

While they returned to their seats, Henry looked over his assembled crew. He could imagine the look on Cera's face, as well, the worry and concern she would have. Once it was clear he had their full attention again, he said, "When we get to Sektatsh, you can choose to leave. I'll pay for your liner ticket and give you full references."

"But you won't let us come back," Piper noted.

"No." Henry shook his head. "I need people who trust me, who'll stick through these jobs, thick and thin. You want to run, that's fine, but that means you don't trust me, and I can't have a crew that doesn't."

There were glances around the galley. Some were uncomfortable. They'd been together for a long while and had gotten used to each other, even faced danger together. But what Henry was proposing was something else. Facing pirates and the like was one thing. Drawing the attention of the galaxy's most powerful totalitarian state, one with a reputation for developing vicious grudges and an army of devoted fanatics willing to act on them, was another.

Henry tried to inject sympathy into his voice as he continued. "Listen, I know you're frightened. I'm scared to death myself. This is the kind of shit I try to stay out of. But people I care for are in danger, including all of you. If we cross Caetano, she's not going to stop at kicking us off Lusitania. She'll have people gunning for us too. It's a point of pride for her—not just pride but survival. She can't afford to look weak to anyone. So yeah, I'm finishing this job."

"How are you going to satisfy Caetano, Vitorino, and Coalition Intelligence all at once?" asked Oskar.

"I'm not sure," Henry admitted. "I'm sorry, no guarantees there. All I can say is I'll make whatever deal best fits the situation. I'll do what I have to in order to get us out of this predicament, all right? Even if it means dropping Gaon off on Lusitania and taking right off for the Jewels."

There was a chuckle from Piper and a grin on Vidia's face. The Jewels, aka the Jewel Box, were a cluster of stars far to Anti-Spinward from their region of Sagittarius-Centaurus, so named centuries before due to their appearance from Earth. It was the farthest known extent of human exploration to the Anti-Spinward, a journey of months through the Coalition, Saurian, and Tash'vakal systems, and then a whole stretch of independent space. "And just what kind of work do you think we'll find out there?" Piper asked. "Crucians and Laconians don't take kindly to strangers."

"I'd hope to find something nearer," Henry said with a grin. "But like I said, whatever I have to for this crew."

That drew nods from the others.

"I'm with you, Jim. You know that," Felix said. While he initially faced Henry, his eyes drifted over to Tia, a challenge in them.

Tia returned the glance. "Like I said, this job's going to go bad," she said. "But it wouldn't be my first lost cause. I'm with you, Jim."

One by one, the others indicated their agreement. A brief crackle came over the intercom. "Cera and I are in concurrence, Captain. We will remain," Yanik announced, his words accented with a slight hiss.

Henry smiled. "All right, then. Everyone who's due, get some rack time. It's five jumps to Harron, so we'll be there in about two days."

Everyone but Felix departed. "Thanks, Jim," he said. "I know my brother's being a stubborn ass."

"As I said before, it runs in the family," Henry replied.

"He's got more faith than the two of us combined."

"He always has." Henry went to one of the refrigerators and pulled out a couple of cans. "Here." He tossed one of them.

Felix caught and stared at it. "Non-alcoholic beer, Jim? Really?"

"No alcohol on duty," Henry replied. "You and I are due on watch in an hour, remember?"

"Right." Felix sighed and opened his can with a hiss. "So, I guess I'm about to get chewed out for what happened with Tia?"

"She's my first mate, Felix. Your boss when I'm not here." Henry opened his beer while Felix took a drink. "You've got to work with her, and politics be damned."

"Listen, I know she means well. People like her always do. They always convince themselves they're the special ones who will make it work, and they never do."

"Maybe not, but…" Henry drew in a breath. "I've been to Hestia, Felix. Just after that, revolution failed. It was bad. She's got every right to want to change things there."

"I've heard the stories," Felix said. "As bad as they sound?"

"Worse. The offworld megacorps built an oligarchy masquerading as a democracy, and they use it as justification to treat the Hestians like disposable tools more than people. They restrict agriculture to make the Hestians reliant on food imports. They arrest people for growing unauthorized food or hunting game. It lets them use starvation to control the population. They force them to work in mines for crap wages and pay them in company scrip, so they have no choices."

"Bastards," Felix grumbled. "Yeah, I'd rebel too. But her friends went too far. The League should be all the example people need about what happens when you give the government too much power."

Henry shrugged. "From their perspective, a new government powerful enough to control or expel the megacorps is the only way to freedom. Otherwise, the megacorps will wave their money around and walk right back in." Henry took another drink, during which Felix said nothing. "I saw what they did to the rebels they caught, Felix. Public punishment details. They worked a lot of them to death, humiliated them publicly, as in literally putting them in stocks and the like to be shamed by their communities. Sometimes forced their neighbors, relatives, to help, while they cut food imports across the planet as punishment and fired native Hestians from all but the lowest managerial positions." Henry swallowed. "Honestly, they behaved like the bloody League. It wasn't like they had to fear another revolt—they'd just crushed a rising, and they had all the guns."

The scowl forming on Felix’s face was enough.

"So yeah, when I met Tia, I signed her on," Henry continued. "She's never made me regret it."

"Sounds like it wouldn't have been easy. She's got no love for the Coalition."

"I didn't approach her as someone from the Coalition," Henry said. "I found her on Darien when I was getting the Shadow Wolf's registry renewed. Broken, hurt, angry." His look turned distant. "I wasn't much better at the time. I mean, if it hadn't been for Uncle Charlie, I would have been just as bad as her."

Felix laughed softly, thinking of Charlie Henry with fondness. "So you decided to pass on the goodwill, just as the good Lord intended, and be her Uncle Charlie?"

Henry chuckled before taking a drink. After swallowing, he shook his head. "That was the plan. It didn't quite go that way, in the end. But in time, I ended up with the best first mate I could ask for out here. And you've got to admit her contacts have come in handy."

"Yeah, they have. I guess she's earned some tolerance, given what her world's like." Felix shrugged. "I just could never turn away from a fight on that issue. You know that."

"Boy, do I ever," Henry said, chuckling again. "I still remember that big argument you and Mister Tanner got into back in our senior year."

"Man was the worst economics teacher ever," Felix said.

"School board didn't think so."

"Statist pricks, the lot of them."

Henry kept laughing.

* * *

After being relieved from watch duties, Tia briefly considered rest before deciding she needed to wind down first. She grabbed a soda from the galley fridge and headed to the rec room. It was astern of the galley, the last room before one reached before the aft engineering spaces. Built to the same size as the galley, with a floor space of about seventy square meters, the rec room had an old reconstructed jukebox Henry had brought from Tylerville with a digital music database tied to the interstellar network when comms were available. Beside it was a pinball machine. One wall had several printed books and a server for a private database of literature for the crew with a pile of cheap digital readers linked to it. The third wall was taken up by a holoviewer, one of the excellent, high-fidelity models that the entire crew had pitched together to purchase. Currently, it showed a visual of an ongoing ship battle in space with space fighters zooming around.

Piper was the only other occupant in the room, seated in one of the three recliners. She had a can of something—Tia couldn't make out what—and a plate with crumbs from a sandwich already consumed. For the moment, she was engrossed in the program, but that changed when Tia walked into her line of sight to approach the bookshelf. Piper paused the program and watched Tia pick a well-worn printed volume from the shelf. As she walked by, book in hand, Piper made out the title. "The Failings of Capitalism?" she asked. "What's that about?"

"It's from New Aragon, written by a trade union leader from two centuries ago," Tia said, sitting down with the book. "It was one of the first books I learned to read English from."

"Sounds a bit heavy for a little girl."

Tia shook her head. "I was thirteen. I was just about to get my first job, a cleaning job to help my family feed my younger siblings." Tia looked over the text within without quite seeming to read it. "My uncle Guillaume gave it to me as a gift. He had a management job at the ore refinery in Schneiderbourg." She let out a small chuckle. "He rose about as high as a Hestian could in those days. His bosses never knew he was with the movement." Seeing the uncertain look on Piper's face, Tia closed the book. "I didn't mean to interrupt you," she said.

"You're not," Piper replied. "I was just watching the latest episode of The War Patrol."

"You mean the Coalition propaganda show?"

"Fun Coalition propaganda," Piper corrected playfully. "It's so funny to see the things they mess up."

Tia let out a small laugh at that. She glanced back at the book in her hands, and a worried expression came to her face.

"Hey." Piper focused on Tia. "What's wrong?"

"The entire galaxy, really," Tia said. "Why is it that we keep reliving the same cycle?"

"What do you mean?"

"For as long as humanity has been around, we’ve hurt and exploited one another," Tia said softly. "We did it before we had spaceflight. Industry. Even when we barely had agriculture. Why can't we live in peace with each other?"

It was a profound question. Given the sad history of her ancestors, Piper was not incapable of such herself, but she'd long ago decided such issues were not going to be solved, so she didn't worry about them. With Tia, she shrugged. "Could be any number of reasons. Maybe there are bad spirits in us. Or it's just bad parts in each of us, and some of us let them win." Piper folded her hands together in her lap. "What's brought this on? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Everything," Tia replied, her voice uncertain. "No. Maybe not everything… my friend, then."

"The one you see for a drink whenever we're in Gamavilla?"

"Yes." Tia leaned back in the chair and looked to the ceiling. "He's talking about accepting the government amnesty and being able to go home, but he has to support the people in charge and oppose resistance, or at least oppose the Hestian Workers' Party. The League's pet Social Solidarity Party is apparently not covered in the restriction."

"Would you want to go home?" Piper asked.

Tia hadn't seen her family in over a decade and missed her parents, siblings, nieces and nephews. Communications were nearly impossible thanks to the government, and sending money nearly so, and there was so much she could have done for them. There were the others she'd known growing up in the mining town, too, friends still alive, and family relations.

But she would have to surrender, sign the damn amnesty, claim she had been in the wrong to oppose the so-called Republic of Hestia, joke that it was, and swear they were the "legitimate" government and accept the system that exploited her people. There was also the bit about “preserving and protecting” the same.

She couldn't do that without betraying all of her dead comrades, the men and women who died trying to free the people of Hestia.

"My world was beautiful. Is beautiful," Piper said. "Sanctuary is lightly populated even by neutral world standards, but we prefer it that way. It gives each tribe a lot of land to live on as we desire." Her eyes grew distant, as if she was lost in imagination. "A wide-open blue sky with a yellow star. Grasslands as far as I could see, distant mountains covered in lush forests. And the desert… I can't even describe how beautiful it is. Stark and silent."

"Sounds better than Hestia," Tia said. "Our world has too many mines, and the industries are run as cheaply as possible, so there are almost no measures taken to prevent environmental damage to the countryside."

"I'm sorry. I guess my people are lucky that Sanctuary's mineral wealth isn't so great."

"Why did you name your world something like that?"

"It was the first name all of the tribes agreed on."

Tia grinned. She thought of the origins of her own homeworld. Hestia had been named for a Greek goddess by the initial surveyors. That most of her population would come from worlds settled by the initial wave of Southeast Asian settlers into Sagittarius had not been anticipated by the survey team.

"You're not ever going to accept the amnesty, are you?"

Tia shook her head. "I can't. I can't lie like that or debase myself. I'd rather die in exile."

"I understand," Piper said. "Sometimes, it’s better than surrender."

Tia nodded and looked to her book again, enjoying the precious memories connected to it in her mind.

16

Kepper started his hunt the usual way. Given the cover of his quarry, she was likely to have been staying at the ISU hotel and hostel in the Alien Quarter, so he focused his attention there.

The main difficulty was that he wasn’t a spacer, nor had he ever been one, and he didn't have union membership. Loitering around the ISU building would draw attention that he couldn't easily deflect with a membership card. Nor could he simply hold out the picture of his quarry and ask passersby. In Sektatsh, that would make him look like a slave-hunter seeking a particular quarry on consignment. It would merely tip his hand.

Thankfully, there were other options.

Kepper slid into an alley off the side road, market buildings to each side. A group of small Harr'al children were arrayed around each other in clothing that, charitably, was well-worn. A klimat, a little four-legged reptilian creature, was writhing on the ground as one of them continued to prod the beast with the tip of a knife. It was the kind of petty, sadistic cruelty a particular type of child would engage in. Kepper was not impressed, given he had long ago moved on to greater heights in that department.

His intrusion was quickly noticed. One child from the group spoke up in broken English, drawing attention to him. "What you want?"

"Information." Kepper held up a wad of banknotes. "Look for human woman."

The translator shared Kepper's offer with his compatriots. The Harr'al children were more curious than frightened—the prospect of money clearly appealed to them, as one would expect. He would be on guard for lies and exaggerations meant to get cash for nothing.

The children each took a good look at the image. One of them chattered excitedly at the others. There was some interplay between them until the translator looked to Kepper. "Seen woman. Will show."

"Show and get paid," Kepper said in reply.

The children talked some more and started for the other end of the alley. Kepper followed, satisfied with the success of his approach.

* * *

With morning came breakfast and, for Miri, confirmation of a ship from her employer coming to pick her up. She had been forewarned that the New Cornish authorities had a lot of questions. Miri anticipated as much and was well trained to ensure that her answers would be the things they needed to hear without giving away her secrets.

Additionally, a message from her contact in CIS told Miri that a pickup was on the way from Lusitania, if she ended up needing extraction. The vessel was called the Shadow Wolf out of Darien. It brought a little relief to Miri to know she had an alternative if P&Y's ship didn't show.

With little else going on, she turned to the news on the interstellar GalNet. Given she might end up there, she checked Lusitanian news first. Most of it was regarding upcoming trade treaty votes, including one with the League, but there were also reports of ongoing political violence against dissenters of the Lusitanian government's policies. A disappointing thing, to be sure, and Miri decided she would be staying away from the planet in the future. She'd had enough of dictatorial governments.

The main news story breaking was that peace talks between the Coalition and the League were imminent. Commentators from the Coalition and independent worlds both shared views that these seemed the most serious discussions ever proposed by the League, with the promise of the first-ever formal prisoner exchange and other concrete terms for an end to League attacks on Coalition worlds. Reading about it made Miri wonder. She found it hard to believe the Social and Public Safety Committee, that far-off body on Earth that governed the destinies of trillions of souls across two galactic arms, would ever agree to end the war. The League considered itself the only valid government of humanity, all others being illegitimate. Giving the Coalition legitimacy would probably get the entire council overthrown.

But it wasn't impossible. If the technocrats or the bureaucracy pushed it as a necessary peace to deal with structural problems or another military threat, well, that might do it. The League's war effort in Sagittarius had always been a problematic affair for them, logistically speaking, and manpower issues plagued their administration and authority in that galactic arm. It was how she could accomplish what she did: the League needed apparently genuine conversions to actually run their system in any workable fashion.

Will peace come? Could it even mean I get to go home? To live a quiet life again, no more running around?

More importantly, do I deserve such an ending?

* * *

Guided by the kids, Kepper found himself looking at a barely restored building that had once been a mercantile exchange. A stylized cross was built into the face of the building above the front door, with three crossbeams instead of the usual single beam and the lowest slanted so that the right side was higher. Below the cross, text in English, Old Slavonic, Russian, and the Calnin language of the Harr'al read, "Mission of the Orthodox Old-Rite Church of Cyrilgrad."

"This is where you saw her?"

After the translator and the witness exchanged comments, the reply came. "Yes. Was here with… with… traitor. I do not know better word in English." The boy openly frowned, both from his limited vocabulary and, Kepper thought, the very existence of this "traitor." The other children were already hissing things in their language. "Is Calnin but traitor of Tashin. Worships human God now, is bad. He come with her."

Interspecies religious conversion always struck Kepper as a bit weird. But then again, religion in general did, whether alien or human. "So she's got a local friend." He presented the children with one note of money each, much to their delight. "Think you can show me where this 'traitor' Calnin is?"

The children conversed excitedly. They clearly enjoyed the reward. They wouldn't enjoy what Kepper would do to them if they were misleading him.

The translator looked back and nodded.

Kepper flashed more money at them and grinned. "Then show me."

* * *

The embassies and consulates that other governments used as part of their day-to-day relations with Lusitania were scattered around the city. Many used buildings initially constructed for other uses, ranging from big townhouses to old office buildings.

The League of Sol had built their own.

One might have heard that and expected it to have been built on the outskirts of the city as a fenced compound to keep the chaotic Lusitanians from causing any trouble. Instead, the League built their embassy in São Miguel, one of Gamavilla's poorest neighborhoods. The central building was secured with a fence, security doors, and other measures, but the outlying buildings were repeatedly leased to the people of the neighborhood for social gatherings and events. Ambassador Taney Salinas frequently appeared at such gatherings, using the goodwill to play up the League as the friend of all oppressed and impoverished people. Doing so also allowed her and her subordinates to propagandize the local people, with the Coalition as a particular target for the speeches.

There had been some altercations, of course, pitting the PdDN and its hatred of foreign influences against the pro-League residents of São Miguel, such that despite the Home Ministry's tendency to turn a blind eye to the misbehavior of their minister's followers, the police often had to break up fights to prevent them from spilling into the embassy and harming diplomatic workers.

To Chantavit Li, this merely reinforced his belief that this entire world, the whole galactic arm, would be better off once it was brought into the fold of Society. Everyone would have a place then, and any anti-Social behavior could be swiftly and thoroughly corrected.

His quartering was in the central building, of course, where he was officially listed as chief of the embassy's security staff. It was a job he did tend to, in fact, but only in conjunction with his intelligence work.

That intelligence work included dealing with the witness from the Kensington Star. That was why Li had gone to the anti-Social beast Kepper. The mess had to be cleaned up and preferably on Li's terms, given their ally's meddling.

Indeed, their ally in the government was too independent for Li's liking, and the unknown crew sent to pick up Gaon on Harron was a wild card he didn't want in the situation. He'd made that clear in a message on the matter.

The reply was what he expected—dissimulation, defensiveness—but with useful facts. The Lusitanian government was taking a direct interest in the Kensington Star survivor story. Such knowledge was useful. It would help to sell the plan when it was ready.

Li transmitted a reply in text: I must have information about the crew you sent to Harron. Our people will be on site as well.

The reply was a file. A vessel, Shadow Wolf, Holden-Nagata Mark VII Medium Cargo Holder, was out of Darien. Those facts did not worry Li.

That her captain was from the Coalition and a former CDF officer was somewhat worrying, at least until he called up the file on James Henry from League intelligence files. The data on his military service was thin, as he was never known to have gained any prominence. Since then, as an independent ship captain, his career had gained more interest, including several visits to League-occupied or aligned worlds.

It also was reassuring. James Henry was just a washed-up Coalition officer, a wretch and a fool who would pose no threat to the operation.

Li signaled as such to Hartford to relieve the concern about their ally's meddling. He knew that after what had happened on Lowery and the Admiral's last offensive plan against the Coalition, Hartford would be quite glad to hear it.

If only Li could get his ally in check, everything would be ready.

* * *

There was silent tension in the meeting room of the Lusitanian Cabinet as Prime Minister Raisuni called the government ministers to order. Vitorino and Caetano exchanged long, quiet looks that the others couldn't help but notice and feel curious over. Usually, the two had nothing to do with each other, but it suddenly seemed as though they were at odds.

"Minister Caetano, you asked for this meeting," said Raisuni. "What is the issue?"

"The disappearances," she said succinctly. "As we are all undoubtedly aware, for the last several months, there have been increasing disappearances of merchant vessels in the systems around the Trifid Nebula." Her remarks drew nods of understanding. "This has had a severe effect on trade in this area, and it harms our economy. For the good of our people, we must take more proactive steps."

"What steps can we take at this time, with all of our power focused upon system defense and maintaining domestic order?" Raisuni asked.

"For one matter, I do not consider these two things unrelated." Caetano's cold blue eyes swept the room. Vitorino thought she looked at him a moment longer than she should have. "These attacks have the potential to destabilize our world. As for steps, we should begin extra-solar fleet patrols and urge our neighbors to do the same under the auspices of the Trifid Neutrality Patrol."

"This is an aggressive act you propose," Raisuni said evenly, "and a costly one. We will have to activate the fleet's emergency supply ships to enable such patrols. The costs will threaten our budget."

"True, but it is necessary." Caetano's voice was steady. "The security of our world is at stake."

"She is correct," Vitorino said, nodding to Raisuni. "Our trade indicators are down across the board. Shipping prices are climbing steadily, especially in insurance costs. We’re getting to the point where we must act or see our storehouses fill with goods we cannot sell to other worlds."

Raisuni considered the matter with a careful look. "Minister al-Idrisi, have you consulted with the other governments that are with the patrol?"

The foreign minister, Omar al-Idrisi, nodded. Of primarily Moroccan ancestry, he was a member of Caetano's party but lent the PdDN an intellectual, cultured air to leaven her stern demeanor. "I have not received replies by all, but several worlds on the Neutrality Commission are in agreement and will bring it to a vote alongside us when the committee recommences in a month. I believe we only need a few more votes to get approval. It will not be easy, as the Galters are, as always, steadfast against further activity by neighboring navies."

"With the right arguments, then, we will have their approval. We may even have a target for them."

"Oh?" Raisuni seemed surprised.

"I have sources on New Cornwall myself, Prime Minister," Caetano said. "And I know Patterson & Yarborough believes it has a survivor of the presumed-lost Kensington Star waiting on another world. Harron, we think."

"A witness?" The question was from another minister. "Can she identify the attacker?"

"Possibly, but we have no news of confirmation yet. I will find out what I can. We will need that information to work with the others." Caetano smiled thinly. "Even those anarchist money seekers on Galt will have to act if we find a single source for the attacks."

"I would hope so," Raisuni remarked. "Minister al-Idrisi, please keep the Cabinet apprised of all further developments on the issue, and I would like Minister Vitorino to do the same with any more news involving disappearances."

"This has gone on long enough, yes," Vitorino said. "Whether carried out by pirates or state actors, these attacks are intensifying. If we don't stop them, the League or the Coalition may move to do so."

"My thoughts exactly," Caetano replied.

The look they shared wasn't one of agreement, though. They kept it until Raisuni adjourned the meeting. Everyone could see they were about to have a frank discussion and said nothing more before departing. It was politics, given that their respective parties were the linchpins of the Raisuni Government.

"You want to talk"—Caetano folded her arms—"talk."

"You arrested one of my agents, Caetano," Vitorino said harshly, "and then threatened me. If this arrangement between our parties is to work, you should not be so quick to attack us."

"I must fulfill my duties as Defense and Home Minister, and that includes dealing with potential subversives and foreign agents," Caetano replied. "The Faith Outreach Mission is suspected. You should warn your man away if he doesn't want to be caught up in our work."

"I am well aware of that mission. It is harmless!"

"By its very existence, it is a threat to our nation," countered Caetano. "We have our own churches. Allowing the Coalition's Christians to proselytize among our people gives them the means to turn our citizens against the Estado Novo. I have reason to believe Coalition Intelligence uses it as a safe house."

Vitorino rolled his eyes. "Your paranoia is worse than Ascaro's. If this coalition fails, you will be the cause."

"Likely, and I will undoubtedly win the resulting election." Caetano's grin turned wolfish, justifying her nickname. "I wonder how many incidents of corruption your successor will find in the Trade Ministry?"

Vitorino paled with anger at that. "Do you have an accusation to make?"

"No need for one," Caetano said, almost laughing. A smile formed on her face. "Your corruption is well-known, Vitorino." She leaned forward over the table. "Here in private, let us not mince words. You are a corrupt, greedy man seeking wealth and riches. You’re a poor excuse for a Culture Minister whose knowledge of our national art begins and ends with Hakkaoui and the make of our wines, and your very existence offends me as a patriot of our world."

Vitorino listened to the calm diatribe and gave no reaction. "Then honestly, I believe Ascaro and her democrats are right about you," he said. "You are a brute and a thug in a party built on brutality, and we are cursed that you can restrain those impulses enough to be an effective parliamentarian. Your election would be the downfall of the Republic."

Caetano showed no signs of caring what he called her. "Then we understand each other. I look forward to your trial, Minister."

"Perhaps it will be yours instead," he replied before standing. "Now, I have other work to get to that doesn't involve fomenting mobs against other Lusitanians. A pleasant day." The last was spoken with a cold formality that belied the sentiment.

"The same to you."

They departed through opposite doors.

17

The Trifid Nebula's three lobes were a bright backdrop against the void when the Shadow Wolf completed its last jump. Piper was at the helm with Tia seated behind her in the central chair. "Jump complete," Piper said. She turned and noted the displeased look on Tia's face. "Feels like the drive needs realignment again. Pieter's getting overworked."

"I think he secretly enjoys it," Tia said. "It gives him an ego boost to be able to say he's the only one running the ship's engines. But you are right about him being overworked." Lawrence drives were sophisticated pieces of equipment, an unsurprising fact, given that they could punch holes through the fabric of space to permit instantaneous wormhole travel between solar systems. The maintenance required to maintain such machines could be extensive and time-consuming. Military vessels had the luxury of affording the necessary manpower to keep constant watches on the system and maintain it in the face of any problem. Commercially owned ships didn't always have that same luxury, and independent ships rarely did.

Without waiting for orders, Piper ran her course calculations. She noted the various gravity fields from the planets between their ship and Harron, not to mention Harron's star itself. She ultimately chose to go above the system's elliptic then descend on Harron. She used the maneuvering thrusters to orientate the ship then fired the vessel's main sublight drives, a quartet of matched GXR-4500 plasma drives. When in operation, the old-fashioned electro-plasma engines gave the Shadow Wolf respectable and expected acceleration for her mass.

"It's a shame we can't play with the toys in the rear holds more often," Piper said as the ship gained acceleration. Inertial compensators quickly absorbed the relatively light G-forces the main drives caused. "Our runs would be much faster."

"We’d also get a lot more attention than we'd prefer," Tia noted. "And Linh made it clear that the more we use it, the more often we need to go to Trinidad Station for maintenance work."

"Well, Trinidad's not bad," Piper mused. "Not that I'd want to live there."

The door to the bridge slid open, and Vidia walked in. "I'm here t' relieve you, Ms. Lopez," he said respectfully.

"I've got our sublight course all loaded and ready," Piper said to him as she stood. Vidia knew his way around the helm. He didn’t often man it anymore, though, since he was fourth on the helm rotation since the addition of Felix to the crew.

"Understood,” he replied.

"Get some rack time," Tia said. "I have a feeling we'll need to be in top form when we reach Sektatsh."

"With this little extra mission? Yeah, we will," Piper agreed. She didn't like Harron on reputation alone. Getting mixed up in Lusitanian politics and Coalition intelligence stuff made it worse. She had to keep faith in Jim Henry to deal with it. The entire thing was the price she paid to have the freedom she'd craved since her grandfather had first taken her stargazing as a child.

She left Tia and Vidia. The corridor from the bridge first passed Henry's office and his cabin on the right, while on the left were the quarters for Tia and Cera. Then came the first cross-corridor running the width of the ship, providing upper-deck access to the forward holds and the first set of stairwells to the lower deck. Astern along the central corridor were the quarters for everyone else. Piper's quarters were on the starboard side. They weren't quite a live-in closet, but she'd seen larger horse stalls. She had a bed, a desk with a chair, and on the opposite wall, a dresser. A small shelf with viddiscs she'd collected over the years was present at the right-hand corner beside the entrance. A second shelf to the left of the door had some figurines and knickknacks she'd bought from various worlds during her life in space. And finally, the far corner across from her bed had the portable holoviewer she'd bought. Beyond was the small walkway which had the closet on the right-hand side and her bathroom, with a commode and a small sink, on the left. Its far end contained her shower stall.

It was not a luxury accommodation or even a coach room on an interstellar liner, but it was better than she'd seen on some ships. The designer of the vessel had bothered to assign enough space to each set of quarters for private facilities, after all. She didn't need to go to the common areas to shower or use the restroom, a useful perk.

After shedding her jumpsuit and taking a quick shower, Piper put on sleeping clothes and lay on her bed. To ease her way to sleep, she felt for the holoviewer controls and used them to activate it then her particular program.

Like most people, Piper used holoviewers to watch holovids. But she'd acquired a program that used the holoviewer's networking capability and a link she'd set up with the Shadow Wolf computers to create a holoimage of stars as they would appear in her current location if she were in a planetary atmosphere. The ceiling and walls of her small quarters lit up, covered in tiny stars, while her front door had the three-lobed Trifid Nebula covering it.

Content with the view, she settled down on her bed. While it had a proper mattress, her mind reached into childhood memories and replaced it with a sleeping mat rolled out on a grass field. She was six again, and her grandfather Pete was lying beside her outside his homestead in the Cherokee district. The smell of the grass and the soil returned, as did the memory of the weather-hardened face of her mother's father, the gentle look in his eyes, and the tone in his voice as he began pointing out stars. "That's our ancestral home, little Piper," he’d said once, pointing to a distant star. "Right by that star." He identified other stars and what worlds were around them in turn.

"Do people live on them?" asked little Piper.

"Yes. And they have great cities, too, quiet countrysides, and even little homesteads like mine."

With wonder, the little girl looked at those distant stars. "I want to go to them," she said. "Can I?"

"One day, little one, you shall," had been his affectionate reply. A hand touched her shoulder. "Dream your dreams, Piper. Believe in them and reach for those stars."

Piper closed her eyes to keep tears from forming at the old void in her heart, rekindled by the memory. "Love you, Grandpa Pete," she said softly in the belief that his spirit could hear her. She turned in her bed and closed her eyes, seeking sleep in starlight as she had when she was a child.

* * *

The planet Harron loomed large on the liquid crystal display built into the inside wall of the Shadow Wolf bridge. It was an impressive garden planet from orbit, thought Cera, with crystal-blue oceans and continents covered in vibrant green-and-brown land. Majestic mountain ranges showed as white, given the snow-capped peaks they formed around.

"A lovely world," Henry murmured loudly enough for Tia to hear. "It's such a shame the locals are slaving bastards."

"Another injustice of the universe, really," Tia agreed.

Cera considered their remarks and found herself in agreement. She didn't say so because there was little need for it, and all of her attention was on orbital space. Harron had many satellites, everything from communication satellites to orbital weapons, put up by the various kings and theocrats who ruled the planet. Hitting any of them would be bad for the Shadow Wolf and her crew, and Cera prided herself on her piloting skills and the years of training and experience that had refined them.

Vidia spoke up from the auxiliary station. "It looks like our fees just went through, Captain. We're bein' granted landin' clearance to the Sektatsh Spaceport."

"Finally," Henry said. "Cera, take us in."

"Aye, sir." She triggered the maneuvering thrusters.

The change in positional attitude turned a stable orbit into an atmospheric entry course as provided by the traffic controllers below. Tia gave the landing alert over the ship intercom.

The Shadow Wolf's trajectory shifted, bringing the vessel into the atmosphere. Cera's approach vector was more vertical than horizontal, obeying the particular restrictions the local rulers had on their airspace. For her, it was one of the trickier approaches. The thrusters would be under greater strain to resist the planet's gravity since she couldn't use the same to benefit a longer, flatter approach vector. She started to redline a couple of them and compromised with a spiral descent, letting her use the lateral thrusters and relax those that she was pushing too hard.

Gradually, the distant beige speck on green land and blue ocean turned into the outlines of a city on a sea coast, complete with a river bisecting it. Cera angled the ship toward the western side of the city, where a vast expanse of buildings and runways indicated the location of the spaceport.

Cera evened out the spiral and brought them in from the southeastern corner of the airspace, using the final approach to finish cutting their velocity so that she had the Shadow Wolf hovering over her landing spot. She lowered the power on the thrusters and allowed Harron's gravity to bring them to a landing.

"Great landing, Cera," Henry said behind her. "I can see why they call it the Sektatsh Spiral."

"Always wanted t' try it." Cera flashed him a grin before returning to her primary post-landing duty, cutting all power to the ship's various motive systems.

"Going barhopping again?" Tia asked jovially.

Cera laughed harshly. "I enjoy partyin', ma'am, but not that much. I'll not end up slaved t' some sassenach takin' advantage of a good drink."

"I'd rather no one left the loading area," Henry said. "I don't like this place or its reputation."

"And we may need to beat a hasty exit when this mess blows up in our faces," Tia added wryly.

"So no gettin' into my stash, either." Cera shrugged and finished her last task before standing. "It's all right. I want t' see about th' thrusters anyway. The spiral was tough, but not that tough. They may need a wee bit of work."

"Just don't drive Pieter up a wall" was the condition she received from Henry just before her departure from the bridge.

* * *

The landing was just the beginning of work for Henry, in more than the usual way. He left the bridge shortly after Cera, with Tia following. "That descent was a little rough, even for the course," she noted, echoing Cera's earlier sentiment. "The thrusters may need some work."

He answered with a nod. Henry would ensure Pieter looked into it and reminded himself to hire an engineer's mate or two. Brigitte was fulfilling the mechanical role well enough, but she had a long way to go before she was a qualified engineer's hand, much less an actual engineer. He was also arguably short another hand even beyond the engineers. It might be time to bring someone on.

But it could wait for later. Henry and Tia had other matters to attend to.

They met Yanik in the middle-port hold, which was already opened to the loading dock, where a mix of Harr'al and other species waited with pallet jacks. Among them was a stout little H'taram in something like a bathrobe designed by someone obsessed with rainbows. Only about a meter and a half in average height, the H'taram was as wide as most of his people, and in general, that matched their usual proportions. It gave the H'taram the look of a particularly wide and overweight dwarf, at least to human eyes, but Henry knew that appearances could be deceiving.

The H'taram spoke first. "I am Teyanak, chamberlain to the Most Gracious Lord Pyta Sikna."

"Ah. His Lordship is not present, then?"

The reply was clipped and immediate. "Obviously not. Understand, human, that the Calnin nobility does not speak with those of lesser station who are not part of their immediate household. That is my role."

"Ah." Henry glanced toward Tia and briefly considered the idea of relegating her to be his voice, since he didn't like to deal with snooty alien nobles. But he couldn't do something like that to her. Nor would she let him, he figured. "Well, your boss's cargo is here, as promised by Minister Vitorino."

"So we are told. Before accepting the shipment, it must be inspected to His Most Gracious Lord's satisfaction."

"Who is not here?"

Teyanak indicated the necklace he was wearing. Henry took a closer look at it and realized it had a small dot in the middle of its central disc—a spy camera. His Lordship would, indeed, be observing.

Henry nodded in understanding, which was better than the sigh truer to his feelings. Better get this done as quickly as possible. I've got a retired spy turned spacer to find.

* * *

Stakeouts were a part of Allan Kepper's life. In his line of work, people didn't want to be found, and finding them demanded watching people. Surveillance was often crucial to finding a mark.

His target had none of those. The closest she had to a contact was the Harr'al Kepper's little scouts had identified. To get her, Kepper had to get him.

Doing so in Sektatsh was not easy. As a human, Kepper could move only through the Alien Quarter with ease. He counted himself lucky that Vasily, as the target's contact was known, lived near the border of the Alien Quarter and one of the city's residential districts, close enough that some of the denizens were non-Harr'al. Kepper didn't stand out.

Vasily lived in a small apartment in a building along a secondary avenue. Kepper found that a building across the street let out rooms daily. Sektatsh was, thankfully, the kind of city where people didn't ask questions when one did such a thing, so there were no problems when he showed up to pay a few days' worth of rent and hauled his equipment up to the desired room.

Single-man stakeouts were technically impossible, since one couldn't be awake and functional at all times. Technology made up for that, though, and the software was among the best Kepper could find, an automated system that pinged him whenever his subject was spotted and recorded the subject's movements while they were visible.

Over the course of the first day, he figured out the subject's patterns. Rarely home, for one thing, an annoyance to be sure. But he could work with that.

The second day, he received a call from Li. "You should know that you must step your timetable up," the Leaguer said. "Another party has sent an extraction team. They could arrive as early as today."

Well, damn. Kepper wanted another night to get a better read on the schedule his quarry held. "I'll step up my plans," he promised. "What can you tell me about them?"

"They're a bunch of independent spacers, and we have no indications that they're a threat. All you need to worry about is securing the target before they get her offworld. Li out."

Arrogant League prick. He sighed and went to his notes on Vasily's schedule. It would soon be time to for him to come home, it appeared. Kepper would be waiting.

* * *

There was no rushing Teyanak. The diminutive alien spent two hours meticulously checking every crate, even individual bottles, presumably receiving instructions from his aristocrat boss over a private commlink. During this time, no unloading was done, nor could Henry justify getting away to begin his other job. He was ready to strangle the H'taram by the end of the inspection.

Finally, Teyanak closed and resealed the last crate. He turned to Henry, and two dark-violet eyes focused on Henry's face. "On behalf of His Most Gracious Lord, I accept this shipment. Minister Vitorino's payment is being processed as we speak, and my people are ready to transfer the shipment to our transport." He eyed where Felix, Vidia, and Brigitte stood with pallet jacks. "That will not be necessary. Our people will handle this." Teyanak smiled gently. "Without an unloading fee against your account, Captain."

"Fine by me, then," Henry said. He turned to the others and shook his head. "They're doing the loading. Felix, stay with Yanik to observe."

Felix nodded. The trio headed for the stairs to the upper level of the hold. He took up a spot on the catwalk while the other two headed on to the door. Yanik took his place by the ramp to observe the teams coming and going.

Henry waited while Teyanak got the work crews from the loading dock before he joined Felix. He noticed a scowl on his old friend's face. "What is it?"

"The labor," he said. "Look."

Henry turned back to look down at the hold, where four individuals were bringing pallet jacks in. Two were Harr'al, one was H'taram, and the third was Tal'mayan, a species with skin tones in various shades of blue. They had a vaguely humanoid shape, much like the Harr'al, although their ears were slanted downward, and their skin was as coarse as sandpaper. He wondered what Felix was getting at for a moment before his eyes settled on the choker necklaces that, upon closer inspection, were not necklaces but collars with tags.

Slaves. Vitorino's client was using slave labor to unload Henry's cargo.

Revulsion twisted his stomach. For a brief moment, Henry considered throwing them off the ship—to hell with the consequences and Vitorino. He noted the twinkle in Felix's eye and knew he would gladly enforce the order.

But just as quickly, Henry rejected it. A treacherous voice in his head whispered, You've seen forced labor before, and you've seen it used by your clients on Hestia and in half a dozen worlds and space stations in the neutral systems where the powerful oppress the powerless, and life—and labor—is cheap. There's nothing you can do to stop it. Acting out will only hurt the people you're responsible for.

Such a calculation was a far cry from the James Henry who had once been an idealistic CDF officer, but it fit the necessities that James Henry, the independent trader, dealt with.

Felix noted the shift in Henry's look. "You're just going to let this happen?"

"I can't fix the galaxy, Felix," Henry said softly. "Best I can do is protect this crew."

"Right." Felix nodded. He let out a little sigh. Below, the Tal'mayan was getting yelled at for nearly knocking a crate over. He didn't know what was being said, exactly, but it didn't require much imagination to guess, given the forlorn expression on the being's face.

Henry stepped away quietly and continued up to the catwalk and the door to the upper deck.

He found Tia in the rec room, going over something on a tablet. She glanced up. "I've got no contacts in Sektatsh, if that's what you're wondering," she said. "I checked."

"I'm not surprised," Henry said, "especially with that amnesty available now." He noted her dark look and resolved not to bring it up again. "Well, I've got no contacts either. So how do we do this?"

"The first thing we do is check the ISU chapter," Tia said. "They have a hostel and hotel in the Alien Quarter exclusively for union members, and your allegedly former Coalition spy is supposed to be a member."

"And it gives her a place to lay low that'll have some security," noted Henry. "All right. I think I can remember my union ID."

"Thirty-nine, ninety-eight, two fifty-four," Tia said cheerfully.

Henry smiled at her. "You would remember it, wouldn't you?"

"You joined the union to avoid problems. I joined because I genuinely believe in supporting my fraternal comrades of the spaceways," Tia replied, cheer still in her tone. A slightly somber look came to her. "You should consider being more serious about it, Jim. You've suffered from corporate moneygrubbing as much as any other spacer. More than most, really. The ISU is a brotherhood for people like us."

"There's only one brotherhood I gave my loyalty to, Tia, and that was the Coalition Defense Force," he replied, pain in his voice. "Gave 'em heart and soul."

Tia lowered her eyes. "And they betrayed you in the end."

"Yeah. So pardon me if I'm not in a hurry to join another brotherhood. Either way, I'll go check my dues paperwork for my number, then we'll go rent a vehicle." Henry turned to the door. "The sooner we get to this lady, the sooner we get offworld, and I've already had enough of Harron."

18

Another day of waiting, another day of checking news sites on the commlink to see if anything else came up about the Kensington Star or other attacks on ships and pondering how she would deal with the investigation loomed ahead for Miri Gaon. Karla Lupa's legend was already undermined by the measures she took to get away. Okon would put her record under a microscope. A new legend looked increasingly necessary, along with a change of scenery. She could find passage on a liner or transport leaving Trifid Nebula for Omega Nebula or something like that. Maybe she would even brave Coalition space itself.

With nothing left for the moment, she started checking schedules. The spaceport already had Shadow Wolf listed as landed. But there was no sign yet of the Astra Mater, the P&Y ship Okon said was on the way to Harron for her. New Cornwall being further away from Harron would account for that, of course, at least in part. But she darkly wondered if the League might be planning on seizing the ship, especially if they knew its purpose.

I should not fret over things I cannot influence. She stared at the list of arrivals still showing on her screen. The company ship is my primary unless I want to ruin my credibility. I need to show patience. I'm good at patience.

* * *

Kepper was watching his monitors when Vasily came home. He grinned at his luck and how his patience had paid off. Given what Li said, he had to act immediately if he was going to get the mark—an annoying necessity, since it meant he didn't have time to plan things fully, but that was how life was.

A quick trip down a stairwell brought Kepper to the ground floor. He left his building and went out into the avenue. Traffic was heavy and mostly wheeled, save for the occasional anti-grav or helicar vehicle, so he had to be agile in weaving through it, taking advantage of the frequent stops as he did. He entered Vasily's building and behaved as if he had every right to be there, which was the usual approach one took to keep anyone from questioning one’s arrival. No one said anything to him as he rounded a corner and entered a stairwell. He went up the required number of stairs and found his way to his mark’s room. The door was locked. He knocked.

The door opened a crack, and a cautious Harr'al eye showed. "What you want?" asked the figure in broken English.

"I am from Old-Rite Church," Kepper answered, effecting a Russian accent that his old accent coach would have appreciated. "They sent me to warn you. Nasty people after woman you help."

Vasily seemed to consider the warning for a moment. There was little trust in that alien eye. Kepper glanced around as if nervous, helping him sell the role while he made a genuine check for potential interlopers. "Make sign of cross."

Kepper did, using three fingers to gesture at his forehead first and then his right and left shoulders. Vasily's eye twitched, and Kepper knew he'd done it wrong. Oh well. He never could keep straight how the damn churches did their silly gestures.

Just as Vasily tried to slam the door, Kepper brought his foot up and kicked hard at it. Metal snapped, and the door flew all the way open, hitting the Harr'al resident as it did and sending him flying backward. Kepper stomped in and drew the pistol from the small of his back.

Vasily made a little panicked noise before a pulse blast hit him square in the chest. It was a weak shot that hurt more than it wounded, but the jolt it delivered had the side effect of seizing up the alien’s body, stunning him.

Kepper reached back and closed the door until it was cracked, waiting for the sounds of an alarm. When there were none, he shut it completely before turning back to his stunned quarry and reaching for the tie straps in his jacket pocket.

By the time he had Vasily's wrists and ankles secure, the Harr'al was regaining the ability to speak. "You slaver?" he asked fearfully.

It was the tone of a former slave terrified of being returned to that state, and Kepper felt a little surge of pleasure. He fought down the urge to laugh.

"What you want?"

"I want your spacer friend," Kepper replied. "Cooperate, or I'll head straight to the Trader Quarter with you and find the most ruthless, vicious slave driver looking for more laborers and sell you to him. Understand?"

"Understand," was the scared reply.

"Good." Kepper smiled thinly at him. He tilted his head to the apartment commlink. "I'd like you to call her."

For a moment, he thought the Harr'al would resist, but slowly, Vasily went over to his commlink and tapped at it. After several moments, a Hebrew-accented voice came over the line. "Yes, Vasily?"

"Me have more food for you. From Father Nikolai," Vasily said.

"All right. Bring it by."

Kepper frowned for a brief moment. Given that the League wanted her for something, and wanted her badly, he suspected she wasn't just a spacer but a careful operator of some sort. After all, the ISU hostel was an environment where she could retain some control over access, which was already limited—a smart move, especially if she knew she was being hunted.

"Will give message when I there." Vasily ended the call and gave a forlorn, worried look to Kepper. "Why you hurt nice lady?"

A nearly unstoppable urge to smash the alien's rubbery, inhuman face in came, but Kepper's control slammed down. The creature wasn't worth it. "You've got a helicar," he said, making clear that it wasn't a question. "Give me the access code."

His captive made a mewling sound but ultimately obeyed. Kepper decided to put off dealing with the Harr'al for the moment and stuffed him in a closet. He could come back and deal with Vasily when he was done with the target.

* * *

When the call from Vasily ended, Miri went back to checking her messages, unable to banish the uncertain dread building within her. She'd received no further messages from P&Y on her incoming ride. While that alone wasn't surprising, some of the questions coming from Okon were quite impertinent. She could sense the corporate security officer's suspicions about her. She couldn't even entirely blame Okon for them, but they were dangerous for Miri and indeed for everyone else. Anything that gave the League cover for their attacks could help them prevail in the end. And she didn't need to know precisely what their plan was to realize it was not for the best.

And Vasily had called about food, unprompted. Indeed, she needed none for at least several more days. Why would he get me more so soon? Maybe Father Nikolai had extra, and it might be perishable? The matter stewed in her mind. You have to be careful about that paranoia, Miri.

It was a problem for ex-operatives like her, especially one who knew for sure that someone was still out to get her. She’d started to see threats everywhere, but reacting could expose her as much as people learning about her past. Karla Lupa was already losing viability as a legend, but she needed to keep the pretense up a little longer. She would have to be cautious and keep her mind open.

* * *

The rented helicar glided into the approved transit lanes that weaved through the taller buildings of Sektatsh. In the driver's seat, Cera glanced over to see whether Henry and Tia were looking out at the sights. "Not much to speak of," she said. "Reminds me of Dunbarton. Just add slaves and slavers, the bastards."

"Not much we can do about it," Henry said. "Just keep your eye on the skylane." While Cera did just that, Henry glanced around at Sektatsh and considered how many of the people below were in the same circumstances as those poor workers who were still unloading the last of the cargo. Fifteen years before, Henry would have relished the chance to visit this planet with his fleet and a few divisions of Marines to end Harr'al slavery once and for all. But all he felt was a familiar sense of disappointment in an unjust galaxy. It reinforced his conviction that if the God he once believed in did exist, He had turned his back on His flawed, disappointing creations long ago. Henry couldn't blame Him, given his own sense of disappointment.

"Shouldn't let it get to me," he muttered under his breath. It's the way the world works. All I can do is look out for the people I'm responsible for.

"Looks like we've made it to the Alien Quarter," Tia said, noting the change in the layout and design of the buildings. "Cera, you should be able to see the ISU center soon."

"Right." Cera kept an eye on the buildings ahead while checking the helicar's traffic-control systems that kept her in the approved flight paths. The system flagged her destination as approaching and directed her to a landing course to bring the helicar to street level.

The streets of the Alien Quarter were clean, mostly, and probably the safest in the city. Armed beings of several species walked predictable patrol patterns. "They look more like an occupying army than cops," Henry noted.

"I doubt they're cops," said Tia. "Probably a citizen militia to keep slavers out."

Cera turned the helicar down one road and then another before they were at the entrance to the ISU center. Henry noted the emblem of the union was displayed proudly above the door. He saw Tia's little smile upon seeing it. "Always good to see a spacer union buildin'," Cera said. "Hostel's not bad, and the union helped me find my last berth before you took me on."

"Glad to know they're worth it. Pull us up and find a place to wait for us. I don't know how long we'll be."

"Right, sir."

The helicar moved into the drop-off lane in front of the entrance. Henry and Tia stepped down from the helicar, feeling the repeated pulsing ripple of displaced air against their ankles and feet from the helicar's anti-grav engines being so close to the ground. The effect dissipated after the first steps to the door. "You've never been in one of these, have you?" Tia asked.

"I can't say I have," he said.

"That's the luxury of having your own ship. Not all spacers have a regular billet. They need somewhere to stay between jobs." Tia led him through the door. In one direction was a rec room, another led to the bar, and a third to the lobby counter. "Looks like they added a hotel unit." Tia shook her head. "Catering to the antisocial types. Or people like Felix, hardcore individualist types."

"Because they offer hotel rooms?"

"Hotel rooms are private, individual," Tia pointed out. "Hostels are communal. Spacers live, cook, eat, and sleep together."

"Like a crew."

"Right. Works for building solidarity."

"But annoying as hell if you want some alone time. That's not an individualist talking. It's the part of me that remembers barracks living when I was called up," Henry said.

Tia nodded but said nothing more on the subject. She only spoke up when they arrived at the lobby desk. "Thirty-nine, ninety-eight, two fifty-four," she said to the young Asian man at the counter. He was bald with star-pattern tattoos joined by Japanese kanji characters on his head.

"Four zero two six six nine eight," Henry added.

The desk attendant entered the numbers. "Tia… Nig-u-yen? James Henry. Welcome."

"Nguyen," Tia corrected, pronouncing it "Nwen."

"I'm sorry. What can I help you with?" he asked.

"We're here to check up on a fellow spacer," Tia said. "Karla Lupa."

The concierge's eyes widened slightly at the name. "The Kensington Star survivor?" he asked. "I'm afraid I can't help you there. I've got orders."

"I'm sure you do," Henry said. "We don't want to know where she is exactly, just that she's safe and for you to give her a message."

After several moments of consideration, he nodded. "All right. The message?"

"Tell her that I've been hired to give her a ride out of Harron if she needs it. She's got a mutual acquaintance who contracted to me to ensure her safe departure."

The concierge nodded. "I'll send the message off." As he spoke, his hands moved behind the desk, presumably typing the message, and he gave them wary looks, as if expecting them to try to glance over the counter to watch what he was doing.

"We're not here to hurt her," Tia insisted. "Please, trust me on that as a fellow spacer."

"With all the ships disappearing… we can't be too careful, you know?" he replied. "You can wait if you want."

Henry nodded. "Fine by me." He turned away from the desk and went to the lobby, where he found a chair facing the HV. Someone else had an episode of what he guessed was The War Patrol on. When Tia took a seat beside him, he said, "I wouldn't be surprised if she tells us to go away."

"If she's not sure who to trust, she might," Tia agreed. "Although wouldn't al-Lahim have told her about us?"

"He would have, but that doesn't mean she'll trust us. We don't even know how well she gets on with him, after all." Henry rested his hands on his knees. "Let's give it a while. If we don't hear back, I'll contact al-Lahim." Left unsaid, for obvious reasons, was whether he'd yet to figure out how to get Miri to Lusitania and balance the conflicting desires of their various employers. That could wait until they had Miri Gaon safely in hand.

* * *

Had Miri known the call from the concierge was coming, she might not have immediately reacted to the message she received just as Henry and Tia entered the ISU building. It was from Vasily's link, letting her know he was waiting outside. Not an audio call but a text message.

Every instinct as an operative told Miri to stay away, to back off. Whether innocent or not, it was a bit too suspicious. She should stay hidden, keep her bugout pack ready, and wait for confirmation of a trip offworld.

What kept her from doing so was genuine worry for Vasily. If it was a trap, he was being held by someone targeting her. Whatever her instincts said, she was long past tired of people dying for her sake.

After checking to ensure that her firearms were all in place on her person, Miri left her room and headed downstairs. She went out the side entrance to avoid possible surveillance in the lobby. Once on the street, it was a quick trip over to the parking lot farther down, where she knew Vasily would be waiting to meet her if it was him. The lot was nestled between two of the larger buildings and stretched across two blocks’ worth of adjacent buildings. A protective fence limited entrance and exit through lanes that would scan vehicles, allowing the lot owners to charge vehicle owners remotely. A smaller entrance allowed for foot traffic to enter and exit.

It was convenient, but the number of people coming through at this time was slow, and combined with the limited access, it was a decent ambush spot.

She visually scanned the lot to find Vasily's Harr'al-built helicar and soon located it in the corner of the lot dedicated to that kind of vehicle.

When she saw no sign of Vasily in the seats, her suspicions increased. Again, a part of her screamed to get back into the ISU building and batten down the hatches. But Vasily deserved better than that. He’d earned her honest effort to check on his well-being.

As she continued to the vehicle, her hand slipped to the small of her back and pulled the Burleigh & Armstrong pulse pistol from its holster. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching her before openly bringing the gun up. She advanced the final meters to the vehicle and looked inside, weapon pointed.

There was no sign of a body or food. Only a—

Miri was already in a backward jump when her brain identified the stun grenade. She hit the ground back first and used the momentum to roll farther backward. A moment later, there was a high-pitched buzz through the air and a burst of energy from the car.

The field generated by the burst faltered just shy of Miri. She'd acted just in time. Recognizing her situation as an ambush, she kept low and scanned the area.

A sapphire bolt struck her in the arm as she turned. It burned her flesh, and her arm muscles seized up while her hand spasmed, forcing her to drop the pistol. Miri slipped around the helicar she was kneeling beside to get out of the firing angle of her attacker.

* * *

Kepper was impressed. He’d been confident the stun grenade would work, but his mark had excellent instincts for getting out of the area of effect. She took cover quickly enough that he considered it a lucky shot when his second shot winged her arm. He saw her gun hit the ground and aimed another shot at it, damaging the weapon and knocking it farther away from her.

He had the opening he needed. He moved from his vantage point across from the helicar spots and toward his mark's location. She had only one route to take, and he kept it covered as he moved ahead. When she poked her head toward the corner of her covering vehicle, he fired a shot into the air beside her, driving her back into cover so he could close the distance.

Kepper kept the gun pointed ahead and downward as he finally rounded the helicar. His mark was slouched on her knees, her right arm dangling uselessly and eyes fixed on him with concentration, a bit of frustration, and maybe some anger in them.

A part of him wished he saw fear. He always enjoyed seeing fear. It was the next best thing to pain.

"Hands up," he said aloud. "You're caught."

* * *

Miri glanced up at her attacker. Caucasian male, mid to late thirties. A League operative or someone in their employ. She swallowed, ignoring his sarcastic remark and expressing the question on her mind. "Where's Vasily?"

"Not your concern anymore." Kepper kept one hand on his gun and reached into his pocket then pulled out a tie strap with the other. "Put this on your—"

Miri's left hand moved up from where she'd had it by her left ankle and shin. But her hand wasn’t empty—she held a Makarov-made flechette pistol. She pulled the trigger as soon as it was level with her would-be captor's legs. There was a loud, high-pitched sound, akin to rushing air, and the pistol expelled a tight spray of metal flechettes that ripped through fabric and flesh and muscle.

The force of the impact and the pain to his gored limb brought the leg out from Miri's attacker. He fired as he fell, but Miri was already in motion. The shot whizzed a few centimeters past her head, and she crashed into him a moment later. With his balance gone and his leg wounded, he couldn't keep the impact from knocking him onto his back. Miri kicked his hand, and he dropped the sidearm. She used the other foot to kick the weapon farther away.

Her attacker brought his other hand over and grabbed at her right ankle. It didn't quite grip the holdout pistol, a copy of the one in her hand, as he instead pulled hard to take her leg out from under her. Miri stumbled forward and hit the ground, knees first.

"Bitch," rasped the man. She turned, her flechette gun up to put another round into him. Her left shoulder exploded in pain a moment later from the slug that blew through it. Her foe had another gun, a slug-throwing mag-pistol, and he fired a second shot that ripped flesh from her left side. The first shot was the worst, however, as it caused Miri to drop the gun from her left hand and left both arms useless.

Despite his wounded leg, her attacker started to push himself back to his feet, one hand holding the mag-pistol and the other gripping the nearby helicar's bumper for balance. A fierce look covered his face. "If the League weren't paying me for you to be intact, I'd—"

That was when a helicar hit him.

* * *

After letting off Henry and Tia, Cera started a circuit of the area around the ISU building. Most of the nearby buildings were combinations of businesses and homes, the former on the lower floors and the latter on the upper. Traffic in the Sektatsh Alien Quarter was relatively active, and she had few openings to sit on the curb.

Not wanting to stray far, she finally opted to pull the helicar into the nearby public lot. She didn't plan on being there for long, so it wouldn't charge too much to their rental account. Signs directed her toward the spots reserved for helicars, right and then left.

Cera made the final turn as the first thundercrack split the air, the sound of air being violently displaced by a force or object. A moment later, the second told her it was not an innocent sound and likely a weapon. A mag-pistol or rifle, she guessed. She lowered her right hand for the pulse pistol tucked in the helicar console without needing to glance down, as she was too busy looking for the source of the shots.

She found them.

The two figures were beside one of the helicars. One was wounded in the leg and had trouble standing, and the other was on her knees with neither arm moving. The male with the hurt leg shifted, giving Cera a better look at the female. She recognized the woman immediately.

Crap. No time to get the Captain or the others.

She remembered the stakes Henry had explained and what Caetano might do if they didn't get this witness. Felix could lose his brother, who was by all accounts a man of God and not someone to let down.

Well, somewhat. He was a Protestant, after all. But Cera couldn't hold that against him.

At that moment, as her foot slammed down on the accelerator of the helicar, Cera was grateful it wasn't an aircar. The gunman would've heard her, and she would have been getting shot at. Helicars were nice and quiet, at least compared to other modes of transportation.

Her opponent never saw her coming.

The gunman was lucky in one respect. The distance didn't allow Cera to get the helicar up to a lethal velocity before she slammed into him. It still sent him flying down the lot driveway. He rolled to a stop and was still for a moment.

Cera wasn't going to assume he was dead. She grabbed her pulse pistol and jumped from the driver's seat. Once on the ground, she went across the front of the car, gun held ready in one hand, to approach Miri Gaon. Blood poured from Miri's shoulder and side, and her other arm was equally useless with a pulse burn visible on the exposed bicep. "C'mon there, miss," she said, reaching down to help Miri stand. A wince crossed the woman's face at her wounds being jostled. Cera brought her over to the rear passenger side of the helicar and opened the door for her.

"Who are you?" Miri asked in obvious disbelief.

"Ah, just a good Samaritan, ye might say," Cera replied, just in case the man she'd hit was listening. "I can get ye t' a doctor."

Miri settled into the seat and tried to move her arms despite the horrific wounds.

Cera rushed over to the other side of the helicar and got back in the driver's seat.

Ahead, the gunman was starting to stir.

Cera's mind raced as she considered the space around her. Because of her position, she didn't have enough room to pull off a three-point turn, and with the bad guy beginning to move, she needed to get going. "I've always wanted t' try this," she said, hitting the key to activate the seat harnesses. The automated straps moved into position, holding both to their chairs. "Hang on back there!"

With one hand on the wheel and her feet on the pedals, Cera took the shift stick for the helicar's anti-grav motors and set them to full. The car lifted into the air. In the same motion, she twisted the wheel, causing the helicar's maneuvering anti-gravs to spin the vehicle in place. As soon as the turn was past the halfway point, Cera shifted the power back down. Instead of the anti-gravs slowly lowering the craft like usual, they reduced immediately, like a submarine performing a crash-dive. The car dropped until it was just above the ground, a jarring experience that drew a pained grunt from the back seat. Cera floored the accelerator and sent the helicar forward. One last glance in the rearview mirror told her that the gunman was still recovering. "Ha!" she called out in triumph. "That'll show th' bloody bastard, ambushin' someone like that! Bet he was a bloody slaver too!"

Miri looked at her with a combination of gratitude and uncertainty. "Who are you?" she asked Cera.

"Cera McGinty, at yer service," Cera announced proudly.

At that moment, her link went off. "Cera, we've heard there's been shots," Henry said. "What's going on out there?"

"Well, Captain, funny you should mention that—"

* * *

Kepper was beside himself with rage as he watched the tail end of the helicar disappear around the corner of the lot aisle. He'd never had a mark slip away like that before. Did I miss an accomplice? This wouldn't have happened if that League jackass hadn't forced me to rush! Anger flooded his mind. Or if he'd told me how good they were!

That made him think about Li. He wouldn't be happy if Kepper failed. And while he was more than willing to kill anyone Li sent to liquidate him, having to look over his shoulder for League assassins would get tiring.

Besides, Allan Kepper never failed to snag a mark. That was his promise to clients. He always got his man—or woman, for that matter.

With a snarl, Kepper lifted himself to his feet and started hobbling back to the Harr'al's helicar. First things first, a visit to Doc Zuyev to get his leg treated. Then he would run the plate numbers on the escape vehicle.

19

When the helicar pulled up with their potential passenger bleeding in the back seat, Henry found he was speechless for a moment, mostly because he wasn't sure whether to praise Cera's initiative or yell at her for putting herself into danger without backup. Silence proved an acceptable midpoint. He climbed into the front passenger seat while Tia rushed around and climbed in behind Cera, allowing her to get to the stricken Miri Gaon. "Please, get me into the Center," Miri said hoarsely. "Please."

"They don't have a full medical staff on-site, and you need a doctor," Henry said. He nodded to Cera. "Get us back."

"Yes, sir."

Miri swallowed while Tia examined her wounds, grimacing. Blood from Miri’s wounds was already soaking the cheap cloth interior. Tia pulled her jacket off and pushed it against the shoulder wound, which was worse. Miri let out a short cry of agony.

"You're going to bleed to death if I don't," Tia warned. She noted that the other wound on Miri's side was oozing blood as well. "Henry, I need something. She's bleeding from two wounds. It's not good."

Despite Cera beginning a skyward ascent into the sky traffic lanes, Henry briefly released his harness to shed his jacket. He handed it back to Tia, who took it with her left hand and applied it to the second wound while her right kept the shoulder wound under pressure.

"Get me to the Center," Miri repeated, grimacing from the pain shooting through her arms.

"It's not safe for you there," Henry said. "Whoever is after you knows where you are."

Tia flashed him a look. "The union would fight for her."

"Maybe so, but there's more than one way to take someone from a place like that," Henry replied, trying not to sound like he was insulting the ISU's ability to protect its members. "And if this guy's willing to open fire or has buddies who will, how many spacers could get killed?"

In the back, Miri started to slouch carefully, her hand gently moving toward the remaining pistol on her ankle.

Tia reached over and grabbed her. "We're not here to hurt you," she said to Miri. "We're here to get you to safety."

Miri tried to fight, but with the pain in her left side and the damage to her right arm, she couldn't quite escape Tia despite the latter's awkward leverage. "Who are you people?"

"I'm Tia Nguyen, First Mate of the Shadow Wolf, an independent ship," Tia said. "We've been hired to extract you."

"James Henry," Henry said from the front seat. "Captain of the same ship. This is our helmswoman, Cera McGinty."

Miri let out a small sigh of relief. "I… I see. Abdul sent you."

"If you mean Major al-Lahim, yes, he did," Henry said. "He said you were one of his once."

"More like he was one of mine," she said softly. "I helped train him for a brief time before I retired."

"I'd say you made an impression, then."

Miri laid her head back as sweat poured down her face. She looked like she was getting sick. Beside her, Tia appeared worried. "She might be going into shock," she warned Henry and Cera.

"Cera, get us to the spaceport as quickly as you can. Without breaking the traffic codes." The Harr'al tolerated a lot of things, but violating air traffic laws for helicars was one thing he suspected they paid close attention to.

"Goin' as fast as I can, sir," she answered.

By that point, Henry was already bringing his commlink up. "Felix, get Oskar prepped. We've got wounded in need of medical attention."

"Roger that," Felix said.

There was silence as the helicar sped to the spaceport.

* * *

In the seedier blocks of the Alien Quarter, Doctor Zuyev maintained a personal practice that catered primarily to the dark economy of Sektatsh, namely wounded criminals and sick slaves. Kepper watched as one such slave, a Harr'al, was pushed out of an exam room by an irate master of the same species growling something in the local language. This allowed the male Tal'mayan nurse to give Kepper entry. "Doctor Zuyev will be with you shortly," the nurse promised before closing the door.

Kepper limped over to the bed and sat. Frustration still roiled within him about the unexpected interruption and how Li had failed to warn him of the effectiveness of the extraction team. The "independent spacers" claim felt stretched, given how effectively that helicar driver had removed the mark.

Kepper was not in the mood to talk when his link activated. The code confirmed it was Li calling it, and Kepper only answered so he could lead off with, "Independent spacers, my ass, Li!"

On the small holo-screen the commlink displayed, Li's expression turned immediately sour. "So you failed."

"You didn't tell me they had someone who could drive a helicar like that! What else are you hiding about this crew of so-called 'independent traders'?"

Li rolled his eyes. "They're not operatives, Kepper. Maybe you're just overrated."

At that moment, Kepper longed to kill Li. He could taste the fear he would bring to the arrogant Leaguer in his final moments. He gritted his teeth and bit down the impulse. "Even if they're not operatives, they're something more than mere independent spacers! Just who the hell are these people, anyway?"

"That's privileged intelligence information. I'm afraid I can't share it," Li responded. "Should I be hiring someone else?"

Kepper snarled. "I'm not done yet, Li. I've got their helicar number, so I'm going to track them when I'm done. You'll get your mark."

"See that I do." With that, Li ended the call.

Kepper forced ice-cold control into himself to prevent his anger from leading to something foolish like pitching his link into the wall. He took a deep breath and blocked out the desire to do horrible things to Li until the urges went away. With control restored, he sent the helicar number to his contact in the Sektatsh Traffic Control agency with instructions to give him their location ASAP.

By that point, the door opened, and Doctor Zuyev entered, bringing with him a tray of equipment. "It is not often I see you here, Kepper," he said, his English tinged with a Russian accent. "Job going bad?"

"Unexpected complication," Kepper said, his voice stable and unemotional. "I need to get back to it."

"Of course, of course. I will have you out shortly. You always pay well."

That’s precisely why I pay so well.

* * *

Li looked up from his monitor for a moment and let his irritations seethe. He wondered what he'd misjudged. Kepper's competence, perhaps. The man did have quite a reputation, but maybe it was unearned. Or did intel miss something about the Shadow Wolf?

He looked it up. The Shadow Wolf's known crew listing, at least on League intelligence lists, was too small for the ship, so there were things about them that weren’t known. Could an operative of some sort be on the vessel?

Or maybe it was just dumb luck. That happened.

Either way, Li knew Admiral Hartford was not going to rest easy until Miri Gaon was in custody. Disappointing him would not do the cause any good. Li would have to make arrangements.

With a couple of button presses, he brought up the list of assets the League had in local pirate bands and security forces. Someone would be interested in a payday to seize the Shadow Wolf and secure Miri Gaon.

* * *

The helicar pulled into the Shadow Wolf hangar to find the unloading job completed. Henry felt relieved since it meant no dealing with that fussy chamberlain, especially about why he was returning with a bloodied vehicle and someone new. He darkly wondered if they would suspect he'd stolen a slave.

Oskar, Felix, and Brigitte were waiting with their one anti-grav stretcher for emergencies. Henry and Tia helped Miri from the back seat and, with their assistance, onto the stretcher itself. She was rather pale. "She's definitely in shock," Tia said, her voice strained.

"Indeed." Oskar checked his medscanner and nodded to the others. "To the infirmary, now." As they rushed away, Oskar continued giving orders. "Brigitte, I'll need you to run a blood sample for the synthblood synthesizer."

"Captain." Cera's voice turned his attention to the vehicle. She was looking in the back seat, where two angry splotches of blood showed on the cloth surface. "The rental agency's goin' t' freak at that, sir. Can we clean it?"

"We can, with some work," Tia said. There was no mistaking that she was shaken. When she noticed the way Henry was looking at her, with worry and sympathy, her gray eyes flared with frustration. "Don't feel pity for me, Jim. You've got your old memories, too, and you don't like being pitied over them either."

"True," he conceded. "I'll leave you two to the cleanup, and I'll send Vidia to help. I need to go send some messages and file our departure plan." He turned away. "It's time to get the hell off this planet."

* * *

Kepper walked out of Zuyev's office feeling restored at least physically. His ego still felt bruised, and Li's remarks stung more than he thought they would. His pride made that sting unavoidable, granted, but that pride was important. Professional pride was the shell he used to keep his urges in check.

Given that he was still waiting for news from his contact, Kepper flew the helicar back to Vasily's building. He was pleased to see no sign that the apartment had been disturbed in his absence. Upon entering, he went to the storage closet in the bedroom and tapped the key to trigger the sliding door. It opened, revealing a much bedraggled Harr'al bound and gagged. Given the mess he'd made of his things, it was obvious to Kepper that Vasily had done what he could to try to escape, although his captive was just silently kneeling, head bowed and eyes closed.

Given the frustrations of the day, Kepper felt a greater readiness to satisfy his urges, just a little. Only a few deep cuts. Nothing too messy. He might have done so had he not felt the call intensify enough that he doubted his control. There was a possible time crunch, and if he genuinely lost control, well, that would be too messy. Not to mention loud. No, not today. There would be no giving in to urges.

The part of him that wanted to satisfy himself, the proverbial devil on his shoulder, suggested a compromise. He might not enjoy the Harr'al's physical agony and prolonged death, but the emotional agony and terror of being dragged off to the Trader Quarter's slavers would at least satiate the need. He would get to hear the wailing and begging, see the terror in that rubbery face, in those pale-green eyes. It would be delicious.

But again, his damned pride stepped in. He'd told the Harr'al he would only sell him to a slaver if he didn't cooperate, and Vasily had kept true to his word. Some might have scoffed at the idea of honor among thieves—and kidnappers and assassins and slavers—but there had to be some expectation of a promise being fulfilled, or nothing would get done. That was how Kepper had been taught, and it was how he saw the world work. He wasn't about to sacrifice his pride for the pleasure of the Harr'al's terror at being returned to slavery.

Kepper considered his options. He supposed he could let Vasily go free, but that was sloppy. He could identify him and knew things about the situation that might yet hurt his efforts. No, that wouldn't do.

Vasily gave him a forlorn look. "You kill me now."

Kepper could see it wasn't a question. Vasily knew he wasn't walking away. Kepper was impressed. Then again, just because Vasily spoke English in that broken way didn't mean he was simple. And he'd had hours to understand the situation.

When Kepper didn't say anything right away, Vasily asked, "May I pray?"

He shrugged. "If you think anyone's listening, sure." As he spoke, his hand reached behind his back to pull out his pulse pistol. He put the muzzle against Vasily's bowed head. Vasily's voice began quietly speaking in what he figured was Russian or some other related language. He didn't bother turning on his auto-translator, not particularly caring for what was being said. Instead, he pulled out his commlink to see if there were any messages from his contact.

The speaking stopped. Kepper turned his head back to Vasily. The Harr’al’s pale-green eyes were fixed on him. He’s ready for the end. Perhaps there would be enjoyment in letting the moment linger. Give him some hope and time to consider his end, to allow some terror of death to come back. Kepper did have time to kill, after all. His commlink went off. Using his free hand, he checked it. His contact had a reply.

Kepper's finger tensed on the trigger. There was the hard-toned whiff of a pulse pistol shot and the thud of a lifeless body, once on its knees, falling over. He glanced down at Vasily's corpse and noted something akin to peace on the alien face, the rubbery skin relaxed in death.

That was one loose thread dealt with. Kepper still had a ship and a mark to catch.

20

After filing a departure flight plan with the Sektatsh Spaceport, Henry sent quick messages to the various parties interested in Miri, letting them know she was on the ship. He was still wondering just how the hell he was going to satisfy Vitorino, al-Lahim, and Caetano, all at once.

If that was impossible, well, then he was indeed between a rock and a hard place. Vitorino was his employer. Without his patronage, Lusitania and other worlds where Vitorino's trade network had weight would be tight spots to find work in. On the other hand, Caetano would certainly have Jules imprisoned and go after Henry and the rest of the crew. Al-Lahim couldn't be ignored, either—Coalition Intelligence could make all sorts of trouble for him, given his status back home.

A knock at his door prompted Henry to look up. "Come in," he said. Felix walked through the door, concern showing on his face. "Is our passenger doing all right?"

"Yeah. She's stabilizing." Felix slid into one of the available chairs. "So we've got our package. What now?"

"We take her back to Lusitania and get your brother cleared," Henry replied.

"You've got some grand plan to appease Coalition Intel, Minister Vitorino, and Caetano?" Seeing Henry's irritated glance at that query, Felix sighed and shook his head. "You don't."

"I'm working on it. That's the best I can do," Henry said.

"I'm not sure how you can satisfy them all," said Felix. "But if you don't follow through with Caetano—"

"Jules is the priority." Henry adopted a tone he hoped would reassure his oldest friend about his too-stubborn, absolute-faith-filled brother. "I just have to hope we can do this in a way that appeases Vitorino and al-Lahim as well."

"Well, CIS only seems interested in keeping her safe. We get her safely to Lusitania, and we've done that. Vitorino's going to be the problem, I figure. I know he's playing up that he wants the truth out as the Trade Minister, but knowing his rep, he has another motive."

"Vitorino always has ulterior motives," Henry noted wryly.

Felix took a moment, perhaps to consider his next remarks. "And what about this disappearances thing? Do you think our new passenger is an actual witness?"

"Well, either she is, or it's a mighty big coincidence that League intelligence tracked her to Harron from a lost ship. And you remember what they said about coincidences back at Halsey, don't you?"

"'Coincidences usually aren't,’" Felix quoted from memory. "That would imply that the League's involved with what's going on or at least knows who is and is not working with them in some way."

"That's my read too. But we won't know for sure until Miri talks." Henry looked toward the stern of the ship, in the general direction of the ship infirmary. "We'd better hope Oskar keeps her stabilized."

"In the meantime, I'm going to join Yanik down in the holds. Get some things ready. Just in case."

Henry recognized what Felix meant. He nodded in agreement. "You do that," he said, eyeing the family rifle briefly. Felix caught the gesture and nodded, showing he understood what Henry was thinking. Without another word, he stood and departed.

* * *

After leaving Vasily's body in his apartment, Kepper finished his cleanup with haste. He dealt with the helicar with a scrubbing program that wiped the system blank then made arrangements for his stakeout gear to be cleared out—he didn't have time to do it himself—while making his way to the spaceport.

With the information from his contact on hand, Kepper didn't have trouble finding the helicar rental agency. Once he arrived, he found the staff reasonably flexible—that was, willing to cooperate for a reasonable bribe—and got the information he needed.

A few minutes later, the data filled the digital display on his personal reader. The vehicle had been rented by an independent trading shipowner, James Henry, co-owner and captain of the Shadow Wolf out of Darien. Kepper didn't recognize the name of the captain or ship. After considering whether someone might have practiced some datahack-enabled identity theft, he reasoned that such a vessel and crew would make for a quick and dirty extraction team. Independent traders needed work since they lacked the steady contracts that many shipping companies enjoyed. Getting paid to move a single person from one world to another was probably an ideal payday to them.

With this information in mind, Kepper decided to reach out to another contact. He was in luck—while his guy in traffic control was more of an equal in terms of mutual arrangement, he had dirt on one of the higher-level administrative officials of the spaceport, one Trafan Desik, a Harr'al from across the planet who ran a smuggling ring for which the city and neighboring Calnin authorities had little love. Kepper kept a functioning relationship with Desik by occasionally doing small jobs for him, never failing to remind him that Desik's fate was in his hands.

As usual, Desik was not happy at his arrival. Having a human lord it over him, whatever small benefits Kepper's work did for him, did not sit well with the Harr'al's pride. He had that same rubbery skin texture as the rest of his species but with a pinkish tint that was rare among Calnin. He looked pensively at Kepper with violet eyes. "This isn't going to be easy," he warned. "This ship is here working for the Trade Minister of Lusitania. Lord Sikna paid for his cargo. I must have a strong reason to suspend the ship's departure with such personages involved."

That tidbit interested Kepper. The Trade Minister of Lusitania, Duarte Vitorino, had a growing reputation as a man with wealth, taste, and a position that let him enhance both. He was also known for getting things done and had his own network among various Trifid Nebula Region worlds, even private trade routes. Is he involved with the mark in some way? Or the League's interest? He filed that thought away for later.

What was more immediately important was that the Shadow Wolf's departure was about to be approved.

"You can't demand an inspection?" Kepper asked as he surveyed Desik's lavish office. "I just need time to move a team into place and take my target back out."

"My authority is limited on these matters. I can't stop a ship without cause."

He considered options. A small grin came to his face. "Lord Sikna can't complain if a man is keeping a servant from running, can he?"

Drisk scrunched his nose. "I think I see what you are suggesting. I can order the ship's launch suspended if we have reason to believe an escaped slave is aboard."

"Sounds good to me."

"But all I can do is order a brief suspension," Drisk warned. "Without an actual database-identified slave verified, I can't even get permission for a security team to respond. You might have an hour before my suspension will be revoked. Maybe less."

"You let me worry about that," said Kepper, already considering his available courses of action. "Just stop that ship."

"I'll send the suspension order, then. Just don't mess this up."

"I don't intend to."

* * *

Cera and Tia returned the helicar after using the ship's industrial cleaners to bleach out the blood spots. The rental agency was still quite unhappy, and Tia did not look forward to Henry seeing the bill when it came. They returned to the ship via a smart aircar taxi and went aboard, Cera to begin pre-flight checks and Tia to check on their patient.

The infirmary was on the upper deck and astern of the living quarters. The nearest of the three beds to the door was occupied by Miri Gaon, who didn't stir at the noise. Oskar and Brigitte stood on opposite sides of the bed, each holding a scanner. "She is still alive and continuing to stabilize," Oskar assured Tia. "You did the right thing in treating her. As if you have done so before."

Tia swallowed and nodded. Her gray eyes turned distant, as if seeing into the past. She remembered a young woman with the same complexion as herself, a missing limb, and so much blood, while the roar of heavy arms fire filled the air. "I have experience, yes," she managed to say.

"Ah. How silly of me." Oskar sighed. "I momentarily forgot your background. I am sorry for dredging up terrible memories, Tia."

"It's fine," she said, even though it wasn't, but that wasn’t Oskar’s fault. Felipe's words and attitude still rubbed raw against her emotions. "What is her condition, beyond stable?"

"Pulse shot to the upper right arm and slugs to the left shoulder and side," Oskar recited, even as he took the scanner from Brigitte to look over the results. "The characteristics of the wound are consistent with magnetic firearms."

"A mag-pistol and a pulse pistol. This man was ready for a fight." Tia got close enough to look at the sleeping form of their passenger. Even resting, there was tension in Miri's expression and body that told of demons in her past. "She's spent years running, according to al-Lahim. And now she’s caught up in this."

"The League will stop at nothing to capture her if they have a KC order. I do not recognize her as a dissident, however."

"She's Coalition Intelligence, or former anyway. Maybe she did something to them?"

"I hope it bloody hurt," Brigitte said, never one to pass up a chance to lash out verbally at her former nation.

"It likely did. They are treating her like they would a defector or traitor," Oskar pointed out.

"You mean like you?" Tia asked.

"Yes. Like me. Brigitte, as well, although since she was a civilian without an official position, she would not face the same."

Brigitte crossed her arms and scowled. "No, I'd just be sent back to a damned resocialization camp and broken down into a good little Society drone." After speaking, Brigitte's expression lightened slightly. "I wonder what the captain’s going to do? He can’t have both Caetano and Vitorino take custody of her, can he? And Coalition Intel wants her on the run.”

“I think he’s still figuring it out,” Tia said. “But in the end, I think he’ll go with Caetano. Even if it costs us work, she’s in a position to make life for us a real hell, not just make jobs scarcer."

"Yeah." Brigitte frowned at their choices. "A shame we had to be caught up in this crap. Like we haven't had enough happen."

"Given the state of the galaxy, we cannot always evade events," Oskar remarked. "We just have to trust in each other and Captain Henry."

"Always," Tia agreed.

* * *

Henry went to the bridge in anticipation of the launch clearance he was expecting any moment. Piper was present at the first mate's station and Cera at the helm, running pre-launch checks. "Everything green?" he asked. The sooner this job is over, the better.

"As green as a New Connaught shamrock, sir," Cera promised. "Pieter's checkin' a line, but I'm showin' no problems on the system."

"As soon as we get clearance, I want to get out of here," Henry said, even though he was still wondering how to satisfy everyone back on Lusitania. Given the choice of more time to make a plan or getting off Harron, he would have always picked the latter. The way the planet did things was too frustrating, as was its very existence. "How did things go at the helicar agency?"

Cera winced, although Henry couldn't see it. "Oh, they took th' car back, sir. But I have a feelin' that you won't be likin' th' bill."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, that bad, sir."

Henry sighed. Yet more expenses, but it couldn't be helped. "Well, that's how things go in these kinds of jobs. You did good, by the way. Got our passenger out of harm's way."

"Thank you, sir." Cera beamed with pride. "I've always wanted t' try that kind o' spin in a helicar. He just gave me an excuse."

"The woman you recovered has reason to thank you, since she's on the League's hit list. Odds are, you kept her from being spaced."

At that, the others shivered. "Such a terrible way to go," Piper lamented. "And they claim they're the superior, 'enlightened' ones."

"Dictatorships tend to bury those sorts of things in the fine print." Henry shared a brief chuckle with Piper.

Piper's laughter was interrupted by a beep from the console. She tapped at it. "Shadow Wolf, here.”

"Vessel Shadow Wolf, this is Spaceport Control. Your departure clearance is denied."

Henry heard that and scowled. "What? Why?"

"Your ship has been flagged as potentially harboring an escaped slave," the official replied. "We are examining the order now."

Right away, Henry knew what was happening. "It looks like the guy you ran over wants another go," he said to Cera. "And he might be bringing friends."

"Give me th' word, an' we're headin' for vacuum, sir," she said.

"Be on standby." Henry weighed his options. The locals, like any slavocracy, took a dim view of underground railroads, especially since they had almost no hope of reclaiming escapees. They could potentially have the system defense fleets after them if they tried to run under that suspicion, and Henry didn't want to deal with those odds if he didn't have to. He tapped a key to reopen the channel to traffic control. "We acknowledge and protest strongly, Traffic Control. We have no escapees aboard, just union-recognized spacers."

"Your protest is acknowledged, Captain. We will inform you of any further issues."

"Thank you." Henry cut the line and turned on the intercom. "Everyone, be ready for either a scramble or a firefight. Someone's up to fishy business."

* * *

An hour, maybe less, was how long Drisk gave Kepper, and he knew better than to push it. If anything, it aggravated him that he couldn't employ that kind of gambit more thoroughly by actually forging an entry for the mark in the slavery database the local authorities kept. It wasn't impossible, but it was notoriously difficult and exceedingly dangerous, as the Harr'al were understandably sensitive to anyone messing with their slave database—after all, anyone who could add someone illicitly could also remove someone. It was, in short, incredibly expensive to make stick, more costly than his payment for the job made worthwhile.

But he would have taken the blow to his accounts had he known how the job would go. His mark was about to leave the planet, and he had no idea where they were taking her. Sektatsh only required flight plans filed for in-system travel, not ultimate extrasolar destinations. If he didn't want to fail, he needed to know where they were going, or even better, where they would be.

That was why he went straight to his helicar and flew to within a kilometer of the hangar where the Shadow Wolf was berthed. After grabbing his gear from the trunk, he rushed to the hangar on foot. An unguarded side entrance had no active life signs near it, so it seemed his best option. There was a security lock, of course, but it was a cheap one, and Kepper had the necessary means to bypass it. He didn't let the door open on its own but set it to manual mode. With that done, he widened the door only a tad, just enough to fish a fiber-optic cable through while remaining out of sight.

The Shadow Wolf was not a bad ship by independent standards. Run-down a bit, certainly, but she was maintained to an acceptable degree. He wasn't familiar with exact models of vessels, but he suspected it was one of the Holden-Nagata lines by the frame. From his angle, he was looking mostly at the ship's rear, where four big engine nozzles sat side by side. They looked irregular, modified in some way, although he wasn't sure how.

It wasn't the only modification. From what he could see, the ship had two quad-pulse gun turrets mounted on the starboard side, and thus likely on the port as well. The housing for a tracking plasma cannon and three auto-turrets was also visible. Kepper approved of the practicality of the ship's captain, if not for what it meant for him. Independent trading could be dangerous, given piracy and privateer activity. Captain Henry expected some trouble.

That the Shadow Wolf was well-armed ruled out Kepper's plan of hiring mercenaries to chase the ship down and disable it. Had the vessel been only minimally armed with a few auto-turrets, a couple of heavy gunships would have been more than ample to compel her obedience or cripple her, but the quad mounts and plasma cannon would make short work of the mercs he had means to employ. He didn't have the funds to hire anyone with sufficient armament to defeat the Shadow Wolf, and he doubted that Li would agree to advance him anything to that scale. There were drawbacks to working alone and at the level he usually did.

So as always, he adjusted. Kepper would give Li a shot at arranging a space intercept, since Li probably had the means he lacked, and even if it weren't a personal capture, his reputation would remain reasonably intact. If the League couldn't manage it, Kepper would follow and try again elsewhere.

To accomplish his plan, Kepper brought out a medium-barreled mag-rifle and a clip of unique, costly ammunition. The rounds within were not lethal rounds but micro-QETs, Quantum Entanglement Transmitters. He'd acquired them months prior as a side bonus to a demanding job and used them sparingly, knowing he would never likely afford more. They were tracking devices that, like all quantum entanglement technology, connected across interstellar distances. They would last for a couple of weeks or so and allow him or anyone to whom he gave the QET signature to track the ship across space.

As he finished loading the weapon, he heard a growing mechanical whine. The hangar roof was opening. The Shadow Wolf was about to depart, and he was out of time. He brought the weapon up and lined up the Shadow Wolf in the crosshairs. As the ship's launching thrusters began firing, he looked for a point where his micro-QETs wouldn't get roasted by plasma or thruster exhaust. Steady… steady… there!

He stroked the trigger and felt a slight kick as the rifle generated its firing field. Through the scope, he saw the micro-QET affix itself to the Shadow Wolf's hull, along the ship's stern below the engines. Kepper reached into his pack and found his QET receiver. He checked the signature of the round he'd fired. A smile formed on his face as he saw the return from the tracker. It was working.

A roar grew from the hangar while Kepper closed the door and reset the security lock. By the time he was done, the Shadow Wolf was disappearing into the twilight sky of Sektatsh. He watched it go for a moment before returning to his helicar. Once he stowed his gear, he activated the commlink and called Li.

After several moments, Li appeared. "What?"

"The mark just left Sektatsh aboard an independent trader. I've tagged them with a micro-QET," Kepper said, rushing the second line as a deep frown started to form on Li's face. "I'll send you the signature. I'm going to arrange the means to chase her myself, but if you want, you can make the grab. I'll reduce the fee for you."

"Very gracious of you, Kepper, to make amends for your failure," Li replied sourly. "I have indeed prepared my own means to intercept the ship. Provide the signature, and your services will no longer be required in this matter."

Kepper did so and hung up. He supposed he could have warned Li that the Shadow Wolf was not going to be an easy target, but the Leaguer’s attitude made him decide against it. The arrogant bastard probably already knew, and if he didn't, Kepper would enjoy his squirming when he inevitably asked for help.

21

The big liquid crystal display surface of the Shadow Wolf's bridge showed the planet Harron recede rapidly as the ship burned for the Lawrence limit. "Good riddance," Piper grumbled from her station. "I feel lucky we got out of there."

"Someone tried to stall us," Henry agreed.

"It was probably that bastard I ran over," said Cera. She didn't look back from her station. "Wouldn't be surprised if a man like that could bribe his way into a cloister."

"Sektatsh has that reputation." Felix provided that observation from Tia's usual place. Since she'd had to help clean the helicar, Henry had her resting. The only reason Cera wasn't was because he wanted her at the helm if things went dicey before they left the system. He glanced toward Henry and asked, "So back to Lusitania?"

"That's the plan," Henry said. "I suppose it's a shame we don't have a cargo to run back. I always feel like I'm burning money when we make an empty-hold run."

"Like we did in that two-week run to Yan'katar last year?"

"Yeah, even though Lou specifically paid enough for both ways."

"There's still the matter of how we appease all of the people who want to see Gaon." Piper glanced toward her screens for a moment before continuing to speak. "You can't deliver her to Caetano and Vitorino at the same time."

"Knowing Caetano, she'll have people waiting at the hangar. Vitorino… maybe not." Henry allowed himself a wistful little smile as he looked over the holotank display showing nearby space. All of the markers for other ships were well away from the Shadow Wolf. "Although it'd be nice if they did. Caetano can't blame me for Vitorino hiring us, too, can she?"

Felix shook his head. "She's a fascist dictator in the making, Jim. She'll do whatever she wants."

Henry nodded. "For the most part. But I do get the feeling that there's more to her than that."

"I never said she wasn't charming, Jim. She'd have to be." Felix's expression was hard. "But that doesn't change what she is or what she's doing to her world."

"You'll get no argument from me," Henry said. "None at all."

* * *

Chantavit Li was enjoying a meal with Ambassador Salinas, although "enjoying" was too strong a word for him. She was a vivacious woman of American background, Latin and Anglo, and Li had no doubts about her loyalty to the Society, although he greatly opposed her pacifism. She was one of the deluded members of Society who believed in peaceful expansion only, forgetting that by their very existence, they would provoke war from the reactionaries that still plagued the galaxy. Nor did they care that they would be abandoning countless generations of people to the chaos that persisted outside of Society.

"I have high hopes for the peace talks," she said. "Once we have peace with the Coalition, we can focus our resources on consolidating our colonies and presenting the best of Society to these poor people."

"So you say." Li had little warmth in his voice.

"Did you hear back from the committee? About those visas I requested?"

"I am afraid they were denied," Li replied. He noted her disappointment with satisfaction. "You must understand, Ambassador, that in these times, we must be careful about allowing the unsocialized to enter the Society on visits. They could be enemy agents in disguise."

"Oh, don't be so foolish," Salinas insisted. "They are young people full of optimism and hope that the Society can be brought to their world. What better way to encourage them than to show them how life is in the Society? How their world will be improved? An end to the poverty that our neighbors endure because of the capitalist class?"

You have not been to New Hathwell. Or to many other League colonies he'd seen in his life, where standards were little better. The League had only so many resources to go around, after all, and some worlds required social austerity and discipline. But Salinas was not the first silly official Li had ever dealt with—nor would she be the last, he imagined. He pondered that if he ever wound up on the Committee of Social and Public Safety, he would promote adding this silliness to the list of anti-Social behaviors. It would not be keeping in the spirit of said list, of course, since Salinas was an enthusiastic advocate for Society. But the thought still had its appeal.

"I have heard disturbing rumors, Commander," Salinas said suddenly. "My counterpart on New Cornwall has been told that we are going to be accused of these terrible attacks on local shipping?"

"A rumor or Coalition agitprop, Ambassador," Li said dismissively. "That is all."

"Of course. I am simply concerned about the damage this might do to our standing. We must do everything we can to prove it nothing but falsehood, a mistake, or a vicious lie by the Coalition."

"Agreed. And rest assured, I am doing what I must on that matter, Ambassador." Li grinned at her. "It will be handled."

* * *

There were several pirate bands operating in the vicinity of the Trifid Nebula. Each had different characteristics. The Tokarevs of Cyrilgrad, for instance, allowed merchants to pay for protection and not only left them alone but protected them while openly attacking the League whenever the opportunity presented itself. Harr'al pirates raided ships for slaves as much as cargo. The pirate ships operating out of Trinidad Station had varying codes of honor, but all agreed not to target each other and not to kill spacers out of hand, since independent cargo ships were necessary to the station's economy. A vessel known on Trinidad Station was typically left alone, as well, pirate or not. Pirates from the Aland system, on the other hand, used kidnapping and ransoms to supplement their income.

And then there were the Tash'vakal, a reptilian species like the Saurians. But while Saurians were bipeds, the Tash'vakal were a hexalimbed species with segmented bodies that allowed them to use their limbs as hands or feet. The species was a divided one with no central government, and clans and tribes were still central to Tash'vakal social organization. Some of those groups became space-dwelling life-forms over the centuries, acclimated to living in low-G and zero-G conditions, so they became nomadic, going to planets only to pick up the materials needed to maintain their sustenance. For many such nomads, the line between trader and pirate blurred, as most were willing to steal what they needed if it could not be easily acquired.

The Mek'taman Clan was closer to the pirate side and threw in the willingness to be mercenaries while they were at it. In recent months, they'd grown desperate, which was the only reason they would consider a deal with Chantavit Li.

Ship-Lord Jastavi of the Pahknabi presented the offer to his fellows and to the clan's chief, the venerable female Lamat, Ship-Lord of the Vanarak. Lamat's reign had been long and fruitful, but recent setbacks were making it tenuous. The Mek'taman were likely to remove her if fortunes didn't change soon, which was precisely why Jastavi presented it to her first and won her support. He had every intention of succeeding her as Clan Chief and knew that her endorsement and success with it would go far in securing that title.

The council meeting was aboard Vanarak, as was custom in the Mek'taman. The Ship-Lords, sixteen in all, were arranged around a circular table of green plastic construction, their segmented bodies resting on cushioned seats built to comfortably accommodate their forms. Their scaled skin tended to dark reds and browns, unlike planet-dwelling Tash'vakal, who had lighter colors due to their frequent exposure to UV rays from stars. Each Ship-Lord had access to food and drink, provided as by custom by the Chief, with each also having a taster present to prevent poisonings—hosting Ship-Lords would be insulted to not see a taster, since it would imply a fellow Ship-Lord thought they were too stupid to think of poisoning food. The Vanarak's meat vats provided fresh slabs of delicious, raw skamar, a mammalian food species from their homeworld, and even tastier slices of human-provided bakhon. Aeroponically grown tsham provided the vegetable nutrients to round out the scrumptious meal, and flavored sugar water would wash it down.

Opposition came from Ship-Lord Tresak of the Turavi. He was a distant cousin of Lamat, but there was no familial loyalty there. He was also a traditionalist. "We have remained outside of the human conflict so far," Tresak argued, his middle limbs bringing up a container of flavored sugar water for his upper right hand to grip. He drank from it, both to wet his throat and to provide the hydration he needed for the moment. "You would commit us to working with the outsider humans."

"They offer us new ships, Lord Tresak," Lamat said, "and resources. Pickings have been lean."

"Only because you insist on remaining in this area of space," Tresak countered. "We should move to the Pektak Nebula." He meant what the humans called the Omega Nebula. "The hunting grounds there are fresh."

"And it is too near the Kal'gevak Clan," Jastavi countered. "They have more ships than we do. We would be conquered or destroyed."

"The feud is old. They would lose too much in a fight."

Ship-Lord Savakak of the Iltamak spoke up. "A compromise, honored Lords?" She was a younger female, still capable of laying eggs, and Jastavi envied Ship-Lord Hektam of the Ses'shek for his marriage alliance with her. "Our chief is correct that the offer is most generous for the recovery of just one human. We can intercept and overwhelm this vessel Shadow Wolf with but a quarter of our ships. Then, upon payment, we depart for Pektak with enough bounty to offer the Kal'gevak a peace gift. Perhaps even this human ship will serve."

"The ship is too small to be of much use," noted another Ship-Lord. "They would be insulted. What would we do with it?"

"If they surrender the human we are being sent to claim, nothing," Jastavi proposed. "As you said, their ship is of little use. I doubt they have enough food to be worth the trouble of seizing it. And if not…" He grinned and let his tongue flicker, a pleased gleam in his black eyes. "It has been some time since I dined on human flesh. It is a delicacy to be savored, much like their bakhon." He held up a strip of the same.

"There would be too few humans to be worth the effort of slaughtering for food," Savakak hissed dismissively. "You know how they get about it!"

"They are as bad as Saurians," Hektam pitched in, agreeing with his wife and ally.

"Few species enjoy the full range of meat," Lamat agreed. Undoubtedly, she felt her silence until then to be sagacious. Jastavi felt otherwise. "But regardless of how we deal with the Shadow Wolf itself, the deal is sound. I call upon the Ship-Lords to concur."

Jastavi beat Savakak to seconding the call. Tresak, predictably, voted no, as did five other Ship-Lords. That left ten votes in favor.

"Ship-Lord Tresak, Ship-Lord Jastavi, Ship-Lord Keshav, you will join me for the attack?" Lamat asked. "The human Li has provided us the quantum entanglement signature his agent's tracker uses. We will ambush them before they arrive at the Lusitania system."

"So the clan wills," Tresak said, a glare in his glittering gray eyes as he looked to Jastavi. "I will prepare my ship for combat at once. Victory for the clan!"

"Victory for the clan!" the entire council echoed.

22

Henry waited until they jumped out of Harron's system before he went to bed. Given the day’s events, he was tired enough to fall asleep almost immediately.

Unfortunately, that didn’t guarantee a restful sleep. Instead, he found himself in the familiar dream about Phi Philomena and the Laffey. He spent the nightmare screaming at himself not to push the drives and listening to the deaths of his crew while fusion-heated plasma surged from section to section of the ship, killing everyone bit by bit.

He woke up and tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. As it always did, the dream left him too agitated. It brought back too many terrible memories and with them the horrible feeling that he'd let them down. He'd failed to get justice for their needless deaths.

With sleep evading him, Henry decided on a small meal to ease the grumble in his stomach. He went to the galley and put together a sandwich from the food stores, roast beef with slices of golden-hued New Virginia cheddar. With the food and a glass of water, he sat down to partake.

The solution of what to do on Lusitania dominated his thoughts. Jules's fate continued to be his priority, so fulfilling Caetano’s orders was at the top of the list. But practical necessity made throwing away Vitorino as a client problematic, to say the least. Independent traders couldn't be selective about who they worked for. He highly doubted Caetano would be the type to bribe the League to export valuable ores and materials to Lusitania, whatever she said about replacing Vitorino as an employer.

The galley door slid open, and Brigitte walked in. She was out of her work jumpsuit and in a plain short-sleeved T-shirt and gray pants, implying she was soon to go to bed herself. "Everything good with the drives?" he asked as she approached the pantry and fridge.

"They're humming right along, sir," she answered, searching for what Henry assumed was going to be a late snack before she went to her quarters. "No problems."

"Good." Henry appreciated hearing it. He watched her retrieve food, and as a thought went through his mind, he let out a small chuckle.

She looked his way. "What is it, sir?"

"That damn Mohawk," he said, indicating her hair. "I still don't get the point."

Brigitte smiled at that. "Doesn't matter whether you do. The important thing is you let me have it."

"I'm more open than most employers. Half the shops in Tylerville would send you packing if you came in looking like that and wanting a job."

"Really?" She pulled a lunch wrap from the refrigerator. "Because the Coalition's supposed to be about freedom, I thought? I know that's what Felix always insists."

"Felix is Felix. People have expectations of appearance. Standards. If you don't measure up, they don't like it." Henry took a small bite and chewed on it for a few moments. Brigitte was busy eating, so he resumed after swallowing. "The big difference is that the government doesn't mandate appearance short of 'don't be naked.'"

"I guess people just love to boss other people around sometimes." Brigitte lowered the wrap for a moment. A distant look came to her face. "That was what it was like growing up—being told what to do. How to act. How to work. How to eat. How to think. How to be the perfect member of Society." She frowned. "And never to contradict it. Never. Otherwise, you were anti-Social, and then it was off to a resocialization camp." As she spoke, Henry saw old pain on her face. She spoke from experience.

"That's how you met Oskar, if I remember correctly," he said softly.

Brigitte nodded. "He helped me escape. Well, we helped each other. He's a good man."

"He is." Henry drew in a breath. "I'm sorry that this job might have us in the League's sights."

"I get it," she said. "I don't know him, but this Jules guy sounds like a good man too."

"He is, yes, and a truly holy pain in the rear," Henry answered, grinning at the turn of phrase.

"Then we can't leave him to Caetano's people. We're doing the right thing."

"And we're almost done. That's the important part." Having said that, Henry returned his focus to his half-eaten sandwich, and Brigitte did the same.

* * *

The pain was mostly gone when Miri woke up. She drew in a breath and felt the familiar sensation of circulated air. She was in a starship running on life support, so they were in space. The air wasn't too stale, either, which said a lot about how seriously they took maintenance on the air scrubbers and other life support systems. I approve.

The previous day's memories were something of a jumble. She remembered the attack, getting shot, and the helicar that came to her aid. As the details flowed into her mind, she recognized that she was aboard the ship her contacts had sent to her. That was a good sign, at least.

Miri sat up and looked around. Now that she was fully conscious, she could see the lived-in, used layout of the infirmary she was being kept in. A man about her age, maybe a little older, was napping quietly on one of the other beds. Given his coat and the flashes of memory she had, he was the ship's surgeon, the man who’d saved her life. She glanced down and realized she was wearing a patient’s gown, fully covering her above the waist, while below it, she was still in what she’d had on when she left her room at the ISU center.

The ISU center. That led to thinking about P&Y, and she immediately frowned. The Astra Mater would not find her at Harron. As far as anyone could see, Karla Lupa had vanished from the Harron ISU. That would mean questions. It would also mean doubt about her account of the League seizing the Kensington Star. This isn't how I wanted it!

She pushed such considerations away, and her training kicked in. She was reasonably sure that she was safe, but she needed to be ready in case of betrayal. Her firearms were missing for the moment, undoubtedly put away. There were emergency scalpels in sterilized packaging on one nearby tray, which could be useful weapons if she needed them. Unloaded aero-injectors lay on one counter at the end of the room next to multiple sets of protective-cradle shelving for vials of medications. More were in a cooler. Probably an anesthetic there she could use to knock out an attacker, if it came to it.

Having taken a mental inventory of all possible means of self-defense, Miri allowed her thoughts to go back to the situation. Her testimony about the fate of the Kensington Star was worthless if she didn't get to the Astra Mater. She slid off the bed and approached the sleeping man. She gently pushed his shoulder then made it a stronger push when he didn't react immediately. His eyes opened, and he looked up at her. "Ah. Miss Gaon," he said. She noticed a faint German accent. "How are you feeling?"

"I am all right, but I must see your captain. You need to get me to the Astra Mater."

"We do?" asked the surgeon. "Why?"

"It is important that I give my testimony about my ship. If they get to Harron and find that I disappeared, they may assume I'm responsible for its loss, and my account was a cover story. I must see them."

"I see." He stood. "I am Doctor Oskar Kiderlein. Miss Gaon, a pleasure to meet you, and I will take you to see if Captain Henry is awake. If not, one of his other officers might be able to help you."

"Please, do," she said. "There is a greater danger here—that, I am sure of. I must persuade my employers of the truth!"

* * *

Henry was nearly asleep when Felix gave him the heads-up that Oskar and their passenger were waiting in the galley to see him.

When Henry arrived, Felix and Vidia were already present, as was a sleepy-eyed Tia. She stifled a yawn even as Henry took a seat across from Miri. "It's good to see you're still with us, ma'am."

"My thanks to you for the rescue," she said. "You saved me from a terrible death."

"I know how the League treats defectors, and from what I can tell, they're treating you like one."

"In their eyes, I am worse. I tricked them into trusting me then used that trust to break their campaign against us," Miri replied levelly. "But it is possible they would be after me, even if they didn't realize Karla Lupa was Miri Gaon."

"Oh?" That question came from Tia. "What do you mean?"

"They would want to silence me regardless," Miri explained, "because I witnessed them seize the Kensington Star."

That news rippled through the room. "So the ship disappearances, it’s the League?" Felix asked with horror on his face.

Henry sympathized and figured that Felix had also only anticipated a peripheral involvement.

"I cannot say for sure. I know they took Kensington Star. One of their cruisers, I am uncertain of the class. I only had a brief look before they jumped out."

"How did you get away?" Henry asked.

"Because of my past, I laid plans on how to evacuate without being seen," Miri answered. "I did so and ejected myself into space with an EVA suit, a transmitter, and an extra air tank."

Everyone stared at her. "How did ya know you'd be rescued?" Vidia asked.

"I didn't." She could see from their faces that they were imagining the fate of repeating what she had done but not being rescued, which would mean being alone in the void of space for hours, days, before dying from lack of oxygen. To be all alone in the infinite night before the end was the terror of many a spacer. "From my perspective, either I could shoot myself from an airlock with an EVA suit, or the League would do it without one," she added. "And only after my debriefing, which would not be pleasurable in the slightest."

"No, it wouldn't," Felix agreed, sighing. "God Almighty, that took gumption, Miss Gaon. Guess it helped you with whatever op CIS had you pull off."

"It didn't," she answered honestly. "That required me to betray good people to the League, an infinitely harder experience. I am a little surprised that HaShem allowed me to survive this long, given all the deaths I caused."

"It's war," Felix said. "You had a duty. Simple as that."

Miri directed an intent look at him. "No, it is not," she replied, a little heat in her voice.

"To me, the important thing is what you saw," Tia said, interrupting the exchange. "So either the Kensington Star did something to piss off the League, if they were willing to send a cruiser into the neutral systems, or—"

"—or the League is behind the ship disappearances," Henry finished for her, "and has been for months."

"Again, I cannot say."

"Then could the peace talks be a fraud?" Felix proposed. "Something to distract the Coalition from whatever they're doing out here?"

"They haven't been attacking Coalition ships, though, just independent vessels and those flagged on neutral worlds," Tia said, shaking her head. "What I don't get is why? The disappearances have almost nothing in common. Medium haulers, big ones, helium-3 and deuterium tankers, even a couple of liners. It can't be for the cargos."

"The ships themselves, maybe," Henry said. "I don't think any light haulers or short-range ships have gone missing." As he spoke, his mind reeled at the implications. The League doing something like that directly was explosive, and it meant that he and his crew were in severe danger.

"Now you see why we must rendezvous with the Astra Mater," Miri said. "If you bring me to them, I can persuade them you are good Samaritans trying to protect me from an attempt to silence me. My wounds prove that. But if they get to Harron and I'm not there, they may assume I have gone into hiding over guilt. That I betrayed my crew. My testimony will be tarnished then."

Henry frowned in frustration. He could see the point. He would have loved to get rid of her and avoid the problem, but that ran contrary to his instructions from Vitorino and Caetano. Somehow, he bet neither would find giving her to the company to be an acceptable outcome, while Jules and possibly everyone else would suffer for it.

"Al-Lahim will understand," Miri assured him. "He will not hold this against you."

"I'd be all right with that, if he were the only one I was answering to," Henry answered. "The fact is, people on Lusitania want to see you, including both Trade Minister Vitorino and Defense Minister Caetano, who’ve each asked me to bring you to Gamavilla if you are genuine, and you are."

Miri considered the revelation. "I would prefer working with P&Y, Captain, if it's all the same to you. Surely, they will understand. The New Cornish authorities are sharing information."

"Cristina Caetano is not the understanding type, and she's a bit of a control freak," Tia remarked.

Felix went for the blunt reveal. "The fascist"—he bit his tongue to avoid the swear—"is holding my brother hostage until we get you back."

Miri eyed Felix and sighed. "I see."

"Not just his brother. She'll have Felix declared an enemy of the state, as well, and she threatened to hurt the rest of my crew," Henry said.

"This does not reassure me," Miri said quietly. "Why would she go to such lengths to hear from me?"

"Lusitania's one of a lot of worlds being impacted by the disappearances," Henry answered. I wouldn't want to be hearing this either if I were her. "And like Tia said, Caetano's the controlling type. She'd prefer being the one to learn information and hand it out to everyone else, not have it handed to her instead." Seeing Miri's worry, Henry shook his head. "I don't think she's working with the League, though. She's a straight-up Lusitanian nationalist."

"I suppose I have little choice in the matter." Miri’s eyes locked on Henry's. "As trained as I am, I can't overwhelm your crew. I’m at your mercy."

Henry didn't bother answering, since no answer would have worked. "The important thing is your story getting out and whatever the League is up to getting stopped."

Miri nodded stiffly. "To that, I agree." But it was clear she was unhappy with the decision. "I’ll have to construct a new legend, then. Karla Lupa's was already losing viability."

"Sounds fun," Tia said. "Let me help."

When Miri gave her a curious look, Henry chuckled. "She has friends in various places, and this wouldn't be her first forged ID."

Miri considered that. "She is Hestian… a revolutionary, then? Hestian Workers’ Party?"

"ID number zero zero ten six fifteen," Tia said proudly. Noticing the looks on the faces of the others, she added, "I memorize things that are important to me." Her tone made clear she would expect them to remember that about her.

"Explains so much about you that a damned number is part of your identity," Felix muttered. "Statism at its finest."

Oskar chuckled at that, but Tia, much to Henry's gratification, did not take the bait. "All right, everyone, I want to get some more rack time. We're still a few jumps away from Lusitania. Stick to watches and make sure everyone gets their rest."

"If you need me to, I can help," Miri offered.

Henry fought to keep any sign of suspicion from his face. He wasn't about to have an ex-CIS operative who didn't want to go where he needed her to go helping run his ship. But he didn’t want her to feel like a prisoner. "There's not a lot to do since we don't have cargo, but if Tia can find you something, I've got no complaint."

"And you'll be paid proper spacer scale on this ship," Tia added happily.

"My pay isn't the important part. I want to pass the time." Despite Henry's efforts, she’d noticed his concerns. She stared at him.

He pursed his lips together but said nothing more. He needed sleep immediately.

* * *

Commander Aristide stepped into Admiral Hartford's office and stood quietly while the admiral continued to read a report on a digital reader. She could see from the red on his face that the ordinarily unflappable man was furious. It was surprising.

Finally, he reacted to her presence by looking up. "Miriam Gaon." Aristide said her name in a neutral tone and saw the angry flash in Hartford's eye. "The Traitor of Lowery."

"The campaign against New Arabia would have dealt a critical blow to our enemies," Hartford said, his quiet voice rumbling with seething anger. "The fall of one of the founding worlds of the reactionaries. It would’ve brought us a step closer to ultimate triumph."

Aristide saw no point in mentioning the outcome of the bold attack and the disaster it was for the League's fleet and armies. It would merely reinforce Hartford's clear sense of failure.

"Li's agent already failed on Harron," Hartford continued. "Now, he plans an ambush in space. If only I knew where, I could send ships to ensure our success."

"It would potentially jeopardize our plans," Aristide pointed out. "Some of the refit work is just now finishing."

"Yes, but I would rest easier knowing that traitor was on her way here, where I could be done with her and no longer worry about how she might ruin my plans." Hartford set his index fingers against his chin again, showing he was in thought. "I will give Li another chance. But I will not let her get away."

"She is irrelevant at this point, sir," Aristide pointed out. "We are too close to our operational date for an investigation to thwart it at this time."

"That’s not enough," Hartford said. "Not nearly enough."

Aristide chose to say nothing more. Not to the admiral, anyway.

* * *

With a surge of energy, the Shadow Wolf generated another wormhole and accelerated into it. A relatively empty solar system with an M5-class star was waiting. On the bridge, Vidia was at the helm, since Cera was off-watch and Piper was resting, while Felix manned the conn with Yanik. Felix looked over the blank holotank then the liquid crystal display showing the distant red star. Yanik noticed the expression on his face and commented, "You seem concerned, Rothbard."

"I am, S'srish," Felix said. As always, the two referred to each other with formality more than camaraderie, not that they weren't there to support each other if it was necessary, of course. "Empty systems make good ambush points. Less risk of good Samaritans coming along or someone getting a call out to patrols. Even worse out here where there aren't a lot of navies that go beyond their solar systems."

"True." Yanik blinked. "Do you believe this Miri Gaon is withholding information from us?"

"She could be," said Felix. "But she looks on the up and up."

"So you believe she spaced herself to escape?"

"Given what the League would do to her? Damn right I do. I'd do the same in her position."

"Truly?" Yanik seemed interested in that admission. "The prospect of dying alone in the long night does not strike fear into your soul?"

"Well, I don't want to die, but going to sleep surrounded by void… not the worst end I can imagine." Even as he said it, Felix wondered if he was speaking honestly. He'd heard stories about castaways being plucked out of space after days alone and how it could drive people mad. He wondered if he would go crazy.

"To be alone in the void with nothing but divinity to consider." Yanik's tongue flickered. "There are holy men on my world who would consider it the best end. No distractions in your final moments. Nothing but the Divine."

"There are other, better ways to speak to God."

"If so, I would think you and the captain would do so more often."

After several moments, Felix found he had no reply to that. He thought about the state of his soul, or rather how he felt. Jules was the faithful one. The war and all of the terrible things he'd seen and done had drained away Felix's faith. The world, so to speak, seemed to be made to crush religious belief.

Any further consideration came to an end when the holotank lit up. Felix watched as one, then two, then two more signatures appeared. "Wormholes opening up around us," he said. "It looks like an ambush!" He hit the switch on the command chair that powered the ship's alert klaxons.

"I've got the drives ready," Vidia said. "Evasive power at command."

"Solid contacts," Yanik added. With a tap of a taloned finger, he put an image up on the display surface. A long ship with eight pylons extending from its central body, each terminating in one of the four pods nearly as long as the entire ship, appeared. "All ships match this silhouette."

Felix recognized them. "Tash'vakal nomads," he said, almost snarling. "Probably pirates."

The door behind them opened, and Henry stepped in. "What do we have?" he asked as his eyes went to the display. "Never mind. Nomad pirates."

"Tash'vakal. Vrekta." Yanik's use of one of the nastier Saurian curses showed his feelings. "I will prepare weapons."

Felix yielded his seat to Henry. "I'll go man a turret."

"Good. Get Ms. Gaon on one too. Pieter will probably prefer Brigitte's help."

Tia came in with Cera behind her. Vidia abandoned the helm for her, bound for another of the turrets.

"Ah, six-limbed lizard-pirates," Cera said, recognizing the ship. "I wonder which clan?"

"They're all pretty ugly," Tia remarked.

Piper entered at that moment, replacing Yanik with a nod. "Bringing plasma cannons and auto-turrets online."

Tia's board lit up. "Signal coming in."

The image shifted to show an alien of mostly dark-red scales. A mouth with wicked-sharp teeth was visible, along with eyes as black as coal. "I am Chief Lamat, Ship-Lord of the Vanarak and Chief of the Mek'taman. Human ship, we have you surrounded."

"So I noticed," Henry remarked. "What do you want?"

Lamat motioned a clawed hand off-screen. An image of Miri appeared beside her. "You carry this human aboard. Deliver her to us, and we will be on our way. Fail, and we will take her and whatever else we please from your broken ship. We give you one of your minutes to signal compliance. Attempt trickery, and I will have you served to my clan's Ship-Lords as a victory meal." With that, the reptilian alien disappeared from the screen.

"Well." Cera sighed. "Aren't they th' cheery lot?"

23

From four different vectors, the Tash'vakal nomads closed the distance on the Shadow Wolf. Their formation was well considered, given the range involved, as the Shadow Wolf had no line of retreat that couldn’t be intercepted by at least one enemy vessel.

The most obvious tactic was to jump. Henry considered it but held back before proposing it. "This is too coordinated. They knew where we were and how to arrange their formation optimally."

"That makes me worried," Piper said as she finished preparations to fire on the approaching vessels. "This isn't exactly a major waypoint system. There're a dozen others I could’ve calculated courses to. They couldn't have guessed this one."

"If they didn't, we’ve got a tracker onboard."

Everyone's mind went to the same source, but Tia spoke first. "No. It's not Gaon. Oskar would’ve found something."

"We didn't take cargo abo—" Henry stopped mid word. Their minute was just about up, and while he never considered handing Miri Gaon over, he had to be focused for the fight ahead. "See that ship at bearing two-hundred mark positive eighty? Take us straight at them."

"We going to use th' toy in th' holds, sir?" Cera adjusted the Shadow Wolf's heading and put the plasma drives to full burn. The ship's inertial compensators kept them from feeling the pull of the turn onto the new course or the acceleration.

Despite Cera's definite, enthusiastic hope for a yes, Henry shook his head. "Not yet. Let's see how they react first."

"Right."

"If Gaon didn't bring it aboard, and we didn't take on cargo, then somehow, we've got a tracker attached to a ship," Tia remarked. "Jumping away won't help. They’ll get a signal within minutes and follow."

"That's why we give them something to think about before we try." Henry thumbed the intercom for engineering. "Pieter, what can we do for a double jump?"

"Give me some time, I might manage it, if the exotic particles don't kill us all by popping up in the wrong spot. But the drive'll need a complete overhaul when we finish, so make sure we're in an inhabited system!"

"How much time do you need?"

"At least half an hour."

Henry nodded. "Acknowledged."

"We're still three jumps from Lusitania," Piper said.

"I'm well aware of that, Miss Lopez," Henry said stiffly. "But we need to lose our tail first, or we won't live long enough to get there."

"All right. Checking star charts."

Henry let her do so, although he already had an idea of one answer, and it was the one he was already interested in visiting.

"The Tash'vakal ships are launching fighters," Piper said. "All vectors."

Henry acknowledged that report with a nod. Given their ships were habitats as well as active spacecraft, using fighters to cripple their targets and avoid getting into direct battles made sense. "Stand by on turrets and for tight maneuvers."

Next came the worst part, the one he'd known since his CDF days: hurry up and wait.

* * *

Jastavi took his usual curved seat in the middle of the Pahknabi with satisfaction. The command platform was the highest point in the chamber, allowing him to look down at the ship-minders' displays and work with little effort. A holotank screen showed the formation of fighters they'd just launched, on course for the human ship, which seemed to be challenging him directly by flying right at the Pahknabi.

Is this human captain a fool or a worthy foe? Jastavi hadn't expected such a maneuver. He'd expected an attempt to jump out and had his ship's drives readied for the contingency, given the relatively low likelihood of just one extra jump causing an exotic particle-induced catastrophe. The foe charging for him before the others was not in his calculations. It gave him pause, but only somewhat. "Remember, the ship is to be taken," Jastavi insisted over the channel to his fighter wing pilots. "Do not engage to destroy without further authorization."

The response from Pilot-Lord Neshas was immediate. "Understood, my Lord. Victory for the clan!" she pledged.

"Victory for the clan." With that habitual exhortation done, Jastavi was free to again consider his opponents' action. Flying straight for the Pahknabi implied the captain did not fear the Pahknabi, an insulting thought to be sure, or at least he did not fear it as much as he feared the others, which was also offensive.

Jastavi saw an idea. The Shadow Wolf's captain was attempting to prolong the time in which he was only under threat from one foe. His course ensured that the others would not intercept until the Pahknabi had been engaged for some time. Clearly, he felt he had an advantage in such a circumstance.

But what Jastavi couldn't figure out was what the human thought he could do. The Pahknabi could easily overwhelm his deflectors before being left behind, allowing for crippling shots. Just what is this human thinking?

* * *

"So. The plan, Jim?"

Tia's question won Henry's attention. He glanced over from the holotank. "Hrm?"

"You have a plan," she said. "I know you have a plan, because you get this gleam in your eye that makes you look a little smug."

Henry smiled thinly. "I have a plan. It involves giving them a bloody nose."

"How big a bloody nose?" Cera asked.

"Enough to scare them. But I don't want to hurt them too badly. That'll make them mad and determined to kill us."

"Well, they've already threatened to eat us," Piper reminded them all in a droll voice.

"What do I have for options, Lopez?"

Piper sighed and returned her attention to her station and the starmap. "A lot of empty systems—"

"Most of space is empty anyway."

The sarcastic remark brought Piper to roll her eyes at her boss. "—and only a few workable destinations, if we double-jump right away. Why are we doing that, anyway? Exotic particles are usually bad for things like human bodies or reactive fuel. They make things go boom."

"Because they've already jumped once. If we do a single jump, they could potentially double-jump. If we double-jump, I'm betting they can't triple, not with the particle load threat or the state of their jump systems. And if we double-jump to the right system, somewhere they can't come safely—"

"—they won't even try," Tia finished for him.

"Especially if we've given them a bloody nose."

"Well, we'll be stinging them first," Piper said. "Enemy fighters entering weapons range."

"All gunners, weapons free," Henry said into the intercom.

* * *

Among the many things Miri expected to have happened in her new life as a spacer, manning a pulse gun turret had never factored in.

At Felix Rothbard's instruction, she was in the upper port turret. Getting into it had required a short ladder climb, leading into the half-sphere chamber for the gun. She secured herself into the turret seat and lowered the breathing mask over her head, ensuring she would get oxygen from the ship's air storage and protect her eyes from vacuum, should the turret be exposed to space by enemy fire. A harness helped ensure a decompression couldn't suck her out. Once secured, she pushed the lever to move the seat forward half a meter, moving it up to the gun controls. They required both hands to use, with index finger triggers for the gun mount in question. There was a physical crosshair of metal built into the controls. It was a very basic, no-frills setup, nowhere near as sophisticated as the automated or semi-automated anti-fighter mount found on true military ships.

A holographic blue light formed on the periphery of a heads-up display. It increased in size as Miri guided the turret toward it. A Tash'vakal-built fighter came screaming in from that angle, looking like a shovel blade mounted with missiles, weapons, and engines burning with yellow light. Ruby light lit up space before her from the fighter's attack, and the Shadow Wolf's deflectors absorbed it. Her fingers squeezed the triggers in response. Pulses of sapphire light erupted from the four barrels and streaked toward the fighter. A couple of the pulses hit before it twisted out of view. Miri doubted she'd done more than degrade the deflectors on the craft.

More lights were forming on the periphery of the holoviewer as the ship's targeting systems determined the presence of more enemy fighters. Given the limitations on the budget of an independent trader, even that amount of connection was something of a luxury. Miri reached back through the decades to her early life, when she was barely an adult, for the training she'd had in using these kinds of weapons. She picked one of the growing lights and lifted the controls to lower the gun from her perspective, her left hand twisting to turn it as well. Even before the fighter became visible, her fingers found the firing triggers.

This maneuver served her well, as it put a stream of pulses dead on target. The full barrage caught the enemy in the rear as it was finishing an attack run when it came into her sights and blew through whatever deflectors the craft had. Her efforts were rewarded by the explosion of orange and red that consumed the heart of the fighter and blasted its exterior pieces in all directions. "Enemy fighter down," she reported into the ship intercom.

"Nice shooting, Ms. Gaon," replied Felix. "Got another one coming your way."

She saw it a moment later, coming from below the Shadow Wolf. Pulse fire from the turret below was following it as Miri tracked her gun mount to open up on it. The twin streams of pulses defeated the pilot's efforts to evade, and that fighter also exploded.

The brief rush of victory she felt was immediately dampened by the shuddering of the ship. A heavy impact, likely a missile or a mag-cannon round, was the culprit, straining the moorings of the ship's deflectors from the transferred kinetic energy. It was a good reminder that the ship was still in danger as she brought the pulse turret to bear again on another approaching enemy craft.

* * *

On the bridge, Piper checked the status display. "Direct missile hit, aft starboard quarter. Deflectors strained but intact. Two more missiles inbound… now none. Auto-turrets got them."

That was good to know. The auto-turrets were the one weapons system that was basic to the ship, a purely defensive system for shooting down missiles and projectiles with magnetically propelled interceptors. They could do some double-duty as anti-fighter weapons, but the quad turrets were far deadlier against enemy fighters, as they were proving as another small red dot disappeared from the holotank in front of and to the side of Henry.

He triggered the intercom. "Pieter, time to jump?"

"If you still want a double jump, I need another ten minutes!" Being rushed brought out Pieter's Afrikaans accent strongly, adding "ooo" sounds to "double" and "another." "I have to finish treating the drive for the heat spike. Remember that overhaul!"

"I will," Henry promised.

The ship rocked hard. "Missile impact, port side. Deflectors are degrading." Piper shook her head. "The auto-turrets can't keep up with them."

"Distance to the ship ahead?"

"Still closing. Eight minutes to maximum cannon range."

Henry nodded with his attention on the holotank. The fighters from the other Tash'vakal ships were closing rapidly. He guessed five minutes, maybe a little less before they were in combat range. We can't jump out before then, at least not if we want to be ready for a double jump. He took that into account as he issued an order: "Prep for fusion drive burn, time four minutes."

"Pieter's not going to be pleased," Tia noted as she implemented the order.

"That's why it's a good thing he's got Brigitte helping," Henry said. "And also why we automated the changeover so much."

Tia accepted the point. "If we make range with that Tash'vakal ship before we can jump, it's going to hammer us."

"That's why we're not giving them a chance."

* * *

The enemy ship continued its steady burn toward the Pahknabi. Ship-Lord Jastavi watched his display as his fighters continued their struggle against the human ship. "The anti-fighter defense for a ship like that is most impressive," he admitted. He turned toward a male manning his ship's weapon station. "Weaponeer, time to weapons range?"

"Missiles are in range, but the enemy has demonstrated intercept capability," the weaponeer answered. "Magnetic cannon will gain accurate range in four tekams. Five tekams for particle cannon range."

"Very well." Jastavi's upper and middle limbs clasped under his chin. "If these humans wish for a challenge, they shall get one indeed."

* * *

As the four-minute mark approached, the Shadow Wolf shook again, more violently than before. "Starboard hit, deflectors are failing," Tia warned. Another shake. "Aft hit, deflectors still failing."

"Their second fighter wing is engaging," Piper said. "The auto-turrets are being overwhelmed."

While it was a bit earlier than he'd wanted, Henry recognized they had to start immediately. "Cera, full burn on fusion drives, now!"

"Aye!"

With several keystrokes, Cera brought the Shadow Wolf's hidden advantage to life. Within the two aft holds, usually kept without atmosphere and sealed off as if damaged, tanks of deuterium and helium-3 started pumping their contents into a conventional reactor vessel. The two elements, given the right conditions, started fusing together at the atomic level, producing energy and other byproducts. The plasma generated by the reactor was drawn by electromagnetic fields into reinforced lines linked to the ship's rear-engine nozzles.

The ultimate result of the process was thrust, and the Shadow Wolf's acceleration caught the attacking fighters by surprise. The shift in the hauler's delta-vee was such their targeting systems were completely thrown off, and with it, their fire. Many of the fighters altered their courses to avoid shooting at their own side or in a vain effort to adjust.

Aboard the ship, everyone felt the increased pressure as the vastly increased thrust overwhelmed the hauler's inertial compensators. "We're at 2Gs now. Compensators are still struggling," Tia said. "Make that 2.1Gs!"

"At this rate, we'll be in firing range in less than a minute," Piper added.

"Fire when you've got the range," Henry answered.

* * *

On the Pahknabi bridge, Ship-Lord Jastavi was surprised despite himself. He'd known instinctively that the human ship was hiding something, but he'd expected something like heavy guns, not a more powerful engine system.

"The fighters are beginning pursuit," his tactical expert commented. "But it will take them some time to get back into range."

"I can see that," Jastavi hissed. The nimble fighters were indeed capable of high speed, but it would take time for the acceleration curve to overtake their foe's trajectory. The Pahknabi would be in engagement range long before that. "Put us on their course, astrogator. Weaponeer, shoot to disable! Their speed prevents them from breaking away from us!"

He was answered in the affirmative as the distance to the Shadow Wolf melted away.

* * *

Henry eyed the distance and considered the gamble he was taking. It was a necessity—the fighters would overwhelm them if they caught up, but the Tash'vakal ship had a position where flying around them without coming into effective weapons range was unlikely. Added to that was the likelihood that they were tracking his vessel. He wanted to give them a reason to be wary of trying again.

"Coming up on weapons range now," Piper said, "and I've got a good destination for our double jump as well."

"Send it to the helm."

"Doing so."

After Piper hit several keys, Cera spoke up. "Coordinates loaded into th' drive, Captain. We'll jump when Pieter gives th' word."

"Retracting cover plates," Piper added.

She was referring to the plates at the bottom of the ship, just forward of the bow-facing holds. They covered the end of the extended section of hull plating that ran the length of the Shadow Wolf, stern holds to bow. It was an obvious modification compared to the standard Holden-Nagata Mark VII, and most would have presumed it contained a cabling trunk of some sort.

When the cover plates finished retracting, they revealed the actual contents by uncovering the barrel of a cannon emplacement.

"Neutron and energy capacitors at full," Piper said. "Shooting."

A white-hot lance of blue energy stabbed out from the barrel. In the space of a second, the channeled, packed neutrons in the shot crossed through the void and slammed into the deflectors of the Tash'vakal pirate ship. The deflectors resisted the blast, mostly, but at the cost of straining themselves beyond endurance.

Piper followed up with a second shot. Slightly weaker than the first, it was still strong enough to smash through the Tash'vakal deflectors and slice through the main hull of the ship. The beam worked its way up into the pylons attaching the upper starboard pod to the Tash'vakal ship, severing one and nearly the other.

* * *

The Pahknabi had never endured such a terrible strike, before or during Jastavi's reign on the vessel. The entire ship rocked like a wounded beast. He could only stare in shock at the result of the enemy shot.

"Scanners confirm. The humans are using a neutron cannon, cruiser-grade," said the weaponeer. "Our deflectors cannot resist repeated shots."

"Reroute all power, blast you! Begin evasive maneuvers!"

"My Lord, the supply pod's connections are too severely weakened. Even with inertial compensators, we might shear it off!" protested his engineer, while the helmsman obeyed the order anyway to avoid his commander's wrath.

"Then let it fail! We will reclaim it!"

The Pahknabi was maneuvering hard when the third shot came, the weakest yet. It still punctured the weakened deflectors with enough power left over to carve another gash across the Pahknabi's starboard side, just barely missing the lower starboard pod. Jastavi watched the damage indicators and felt fury at the human ship and indeed their entire damned race. Chantavit Li had not warned him of this. His ship absorbing such severe damage would weaken Jastavi's political power. Lamat would never choose him.

Still, there was pride. He was a Ship-Lord of the Mek'taman. His honor, the honor of the Pahknabi, and that of the clan demanded he retaliate. "To the ethereal wastes with Li and all humans. Weaponeer, hold fire until we have optimal range on them, then fire all available weapons on that ship! I do not care if it survives!"

"Gladly, my Lord!" the weaponeer replied even as another shot from the humans carved another wound in the Pahknabi.

Jastavi hissed lowly as the next shot came. I will return the pain in kind, human. I will make you pay!

* * *

Henry watched with quiet satisfaction as a fifth and final shot from the neutron cannon finished dealing another blow to the Tash'vakal vessel. That shot did the least damage of all, as it had little power left after penetrating the compromised deflectors on the other ship.

"Capacitors are low," Piper said. "And heat buildup's at the redline. Do you want me to go for another shot?"

Henry was looking over the holotank intently, judging the position of the other Tash'vakal ships. Finally, he answered, "Not right away. Cera, alter course, heading to three-three-five, degrees mark negative fourteen."

"Aye, sir."

"That should open up the range a little, just in case they try to return fire," Henry said. Looking at the distance on the holotank, he figured it wouldn't take them out of weapons range of the stricken ship, but it would keep them from coming under fire from other threats. We're committed to this run and have to see it through.

"So far, I've got nothing from their weapons." Piper shook her head. "We may have knocked out something vital."

"Reinforce deflectors to face them as we pass."

"Doing what I can, but they took some hits already…" Tia gave him a worried look. "Jim, even if we took out some of their weapons—"

"I know, but we're on the horns of a dilemma here, Tia," he replied. "Ambushes have a way of causing that."

As soon as he spoke, Henry realized he'd touched an old wound for Tia, and it wasn't hard to guess what it involved. He could see in her stormy gray eyes the memories of urban battle, a revolution betrayed.

"I see your point," she said.

As their range to the damaged Tash'vakal ship came as close as it would, Henry got on the intercom. "I'd enjoy a jump any time, Pieter."

"Stand by, Captain. Just a couple more minutes."

Piper sighed. "We really need to hire him a—" Her instruments lit up and diverted her attention. "They're locking weapons and shooting!"

"Evasive!"

Given their speed and acceleration, they were in an excellent position to evade a lot of incoming fire. But the Tash'vakal ship, despite being wounded, was equally capable of throwing a lot of it. Missiles streamed from launchers while particle lances lashed out through space in glittering cerulean beams of murderous energy that stabbed at the Shadow Wolf.

Some missed. Some hit. The Shadow Wolf's deflectors endured the impacts with decreasing capability until the shots started to cut through enough to scorch the hull.

The missiles came roaring in behind the lances, hitting acceleration that quickly overtook the hauler even with her unique fusion drives pushing her along. The auto-turrets engaged them, as did the manned quad turrets, with the sapphire pulses and unseen strips of magnetically accelerated metal ripping into the approaching missiles. Between the ship's speed and its defensive fire, most of the enemy missiles were eliminated.

Most.

One missile, on the verge of missing, fired thrusters to correct its course, bringing it back around to the port side of the Shadow Wolf. An auto-turret round failed to destroy the warhead of the missile, which slammed into the deflectors and exploded. Another came in from below before it hit the deflectors, then two from starboard. Bursts of energy, courtesy of high-energy reactions from the xaser-pumped warheads of the missiles, pounded the Shadow Wolf on all sides.

The abuse was too much. The deflectors failed.

With the distance growing, more and more of the particle lance fire from the Tash'vakal was missing, but the successful hits told on the Shadow Wolf's dark-gray hull. Even glancing blows left scorched, half-melted hull material in its wake. One beam sliced through the mid-starboard hold into the mid-port hold, exposing both. Another carved a chunk out of the ship's aft section on the upper deck. One missile went off just before reaching the impact point, bathing the forward lower deck in enough energy to melt through and cause a hull breach.

For all of their bad luck in these hits, the Shadow Wolf was fortunate. Her engines, still straining to keep her ahead of the approaching mass of fighters, hadn’t taken serious damage. The lances did nothing more than a single glancing hit on the rear starboard hold, ensuring her fusion drive systems went undamaged.

That fortune was little comfort for the crew, however, as their ship shuddered under the repeated impacts. Alarms wailed, and Tia swallowed at seeing the red showing up on various sections of the damage control display. "We've taken multiple hits to bare hull, both middle holds are hulled completely, structural damage on both decks fore and aft." She glanced briefly at Henry.

Henry knew she was thinking about her previous warning not to get too close and didn't begrudge her those thoughts as he fought his frustration with everything. He regretted having anything do with Lusitania in that moment. But regrets wouldn't get them through. His finger found the intercom again. "Pieter, we're taking hits! We've got to jump, now."

"If you double-jump, I can't guarantee the drive will hold. I need at least a minute to finish heat-proofing this component!"

The ship shuddered again. "Forward starboard hold hit and hulled," Tia said.

Piper gave another warning. "More missiles inbound. The auto-turrets can't get them all!"

"Pieter, I'm not sure we have thirty seconds!"

"Stand by!" An invective in Afrikaans came over the line.

"Maneuverin' as best as I can!" Cera said.

After a glance at the holotank, Henry decided to take a risk. "Don't worry about my prior heading order, Cera. Evade in any heading you can!" He gave the order, knowing that to break from the general direction would drastically cut the time to intercept for the approaching fighters.

"Aye, sir!"

Cera broke the Shadow Wolf into a twist upward and to port. The maneuver threw off several shots from the Tash'vakal ship and further opened up the range. She ended up turning a full hundred degrees, which in turn meant that their new heading reduced their distance from the approaching fighters. Henry looked at the range and knew he was cutting it close.

* * *

Jastavi was pleased to see the damage inflicted on the human ship. He was delighted to see the ship panic enough to change its heading so that the fighters' intercept time shortened. It had the effect of making the Pahknabi's fire completely inaccurate, but the fighters could finish them off. And if they jumped, well, that would just add time to the chase. He triggered the tactical comm line and said, "Pilot-Lord Neshas, the prey is yours."

"I thank you for this honor, my Lord," his lead pilot replied. "They will suffer for harming our home."

"I will give you first choice of meat when we cook their captain," Jastavi promised. Such honor did well to keep the loyalty of his subordinates, and he would need such given the damage the humans inflicted. Jump, fool. See what it does for you.

The thought made Jastavi wonder. Just why hasn't the human jumped yet? Indeed the fool suspects we're tracking their ship, but they have no hope of victory remaining here.

* * *

The fighters were looming ever closer on the holotank in Henry's eye. The vessel behind them continued to fire, although none of its shots were hitting, and its missiles were having trouble keeping up with their maneuvers.

"Captain, I can't maintain this acceleration for much longer," Cera warned. "I'm showin' stress indicators on th' fusion drive."

"Just a bit longer," he said. Then he called up Pieter again. "Pieter…"

"Damn you, I'm going as fast as I can!" Exasperation was evident in Pieter's voice. "Just let me finish this up."

"The fighters are almost to weapons range, Jim," Tia pointed out.

"I'm aware of that." Henry let out a breath, as hard as that could be given they were still pulling 2Gs from the effort of the fusion drive. His eyes went back to the holotank as the cloud of red dots came closer and closer to the center. His vision was clouded by sweat dripping into his eyes from his brow. The seconds seemed to elongate as he wondered if he'd miscalculated somewhere, if this was how it would end for them, if he had let his crew down.

Ahead of him, Cera started speaking softly, her voice slightly choked. "Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee—"

"—blessed art thou amongst women," Piper added, her eyes closed and face pale with fear and worry. "And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

From her seat, Tia looked from them to Jim, while the holotank showed the fighters mere seconds from range, seconds that went by far too quickly.

The Tash'vakal fired a missile volley right at them.

"Jump!" Pieter's voice thundered over the intercom.

Cera's finger went to the control and punched it within a second.

The Shadow Wolf's Lawrence drive came to life, drawing power from both her regular reactors and her still-running fusion-drive reactor. Energy flowed from the drive core invisibly, coalescing ahead of the ship until it punctured a hole through space-time. Color blossomed in the void of space to form the mouth of a short-lived wormhole.

The Shadow Wolf plunged into it just as the missiles drew closer.

In the system on the other side, the Shadow Wolf's acceleration carried it on. Behind it, the escape wormhole closed. Half of a missile came through before the universe finished sealing the gap, leaving it to drift uselessly without its engine.

By that point, the next set of coordinates was fed into the projectors of the Shadow Wolf's Lawrence drive. Hot from the tremendous energy necessary to pierce the fabric of the universe, the drive became hotter still as energy yet again surged into it. Another wormhole blossomed open, and the ship rushed through it.

Once through the second wormhole, everyone nearly stopped breathing, as if waiting for something to go wrong, for something to explode from exotic particles, or for the enemy ships to appear. After ten seconds passed, Henry broke the silence by asking, "Any sign of pursuit?"

"None," Piper said.

At the helm, Cera crossed herself and let out a tense breath.

Henry was about to ask where they were, but he stopped at seeing the holotank display the incoming IFF information for a nearby station. "Trinidad Station," he said softly.

Piper nodded. Color hadn't quite yet returned to her face. "Figured we'd need somewhere we trust for repairs," she said. "Even if we're not coming with cargo for them this time."

"Even if we had been, we'd have lost it," Tia said. "Only one active hold still intact. It's going to take days and a lot of credits to get the ship back in shape."

"I know." Henry let out a long sigh of relief and frustration. Regardless of whether Caetano or Vitorino paid him, he could see his accounts draining from the repair expenses. "Take us in, Cera. On standard drives."

"Aye, sir," she said. "Plasma drives engaging."

The Shadow Wolf, wounded but intact, started her way back to one of the few ports that might properly have been called her home.

* * *

Few times in his existence had ever seen Ship-Lord Jastavi's rage so hot. He looked at the holotank display showing the current location of their prey and felt the urge to encourage the clan to attack anyway, not that it would have done him any good.

"Ship-Lord Tresak is offering to send us aid, as is Chief Lamat," his communications officer informed him. "They have noted our battle damage."

"Tell them our crews can handle—" Jastavi stopped himself. That was his pride talking, and only his pride. While that trait was crucial to a Ship-Lord, so was obligation. His clan was weakened if the Pahknabi was not repaired in due time. He had to face that the Pahknabi's crew needed help due to the deaths and injuries they'd endured. "Tell them I am honored by their assistance," he said forcefully, knowing full well that Tresak would never let him forget this. At the same time, his ambitions were certainly set back.

"Doing so now. What of our fighters?"

"Other Ship-Lords will recover them," Jastavi said. "Focus our efforts on repairs. The Pahknabi must be restored to strength."

"As you command, my Lord."

That meant little to Jastavi's rage. He didn't know whom he wished to slaughter more, the human captain who had just bested him or that damned Chantavit Li, who’d said nothing about the mettle of their foe. Bested by humans, tricked by humans… may the gods of the Void drag their souls to oblivion, and I will gladly free them from their bodies to provide the opportunity!

24

While Cera and Vidia minded the bridge, the rest of the crew met in the galley to take stock of their situation. Tia delivered the damage report with little emotion. Multiple hulled holds would have to be repaired so they could continue working, and at least three of the hull breaches were major. The survey of the damage would take days of work and a lot of credits to properly repair.

Henry listened to the report while nursing a small shot glass of bourbon. He found the substance useful, given his feelings and nerves. As always, he monitored himself carefully to ensure he wasn't becoming overly reliant on it. The last thing he wanted was to become an actual alcoholic.

"I think I can sum all this up by saying we got away without quite getting our asses handed to us," Tia remarked. "We'll probably spend a week on Trinidad, getting everything fixed, if not more."

"And don't forget the Lawrence drive," Pieter added. "We blew out half the bloody thing with that second jump."

"Our priorities will be major hull breaches, the drive, and the holds, in that order," Henry said.

"I think the drives can go last," Tia said. "We're at a safe harbor now, and we can afford to wait."

"Not everyone on Trinidad Station is trustworthy, as you well know." Henry gave her a knowing look. "We need to be able to leave if things get hot."

"Well, it's going to be a while," Pieter said. "I can only do so much. All of the coolant seals need inspecting, and most will probably need replacing."

"There are repair hands we can hire on once we make dock," Tia assured him. She looked almost as haggard as Henry felt.

"You'll want to talk to your friend too." Pieter turned to face her. Dark-brownish smudges from the chemicals he'd employed in his work showed on his jumpsuit and on his skin, including his face. "We've never run the fusion drive that long or that intensely before. We may need to replace the plasma manifolds, at the very least."

Tia acknowledged Pieter with a nod. "I'll speak to Khánh."

Throughout the meeting, Miri remained silent. To Henry, she seemed not so pleased to hear about their destination. "Trinidad Station is a pirate station, I thought?" she asked.

"Yes, and no," Tia answered. "It was put into orbit over a gas giant a hundred and fifty years ago to support a helium-extraction operation for some corporation few people remember. But the company failed. And because it turned out to be a marginal operation, nobody bothered to buy the station out. The profit margins were too thin."

"Presumably, the residents decided to stay?"

Tia snorted. "Decide? Nobody asked them. The gas miners and the support personnel were let go from their jobs, and they didn't earn much when they had them, so hiring passage would've bankrupted the ones that could manage to pay. No, like any other group of workers, they did what they had to in order to survive. They mine water from wherever they can find it in-system and grow what they can in the station. Even the simplest food can be a luxury item here. But since the station wasn't founded in anyone's legal territory, and nobody wanted to annex, it's an independent port, so plenty of people find that useful and use Trinidad for trade."

"Including pirates," Henry said. He was well familiar with Tia's in-depth knowledge of the station's history, given some of the ways it mirrored Hestia's experience with the less-scrupulous businessmen of the known galaxy. "The station's sort of a guild-run oligarchy. The gas miners, the agriculturalists, the engineers… each group has a say, as do the transport specialists who import everything they need to keep the station running."

"And the pirates are how they can afford to keep the station operating?" Miri asked.

"The initial pirates were desperate station-folk who hit ships for the goods to trade for survival," Tia answered. "When none of the planetary governments bothered to come after them, other pirate ships started coming in, as did smugglers. They all follow the same code, which is basically help keep the station going, don't rob from station residents or ships that import what the station needs, and don't do anything that would bring a fleet in."

"It's an interesting place," Piper added. "One of the better ports of call in the Trifid Region, if you're an independent trader. It guarantees the pirates will leave you alone."

"It's not a good place if you work for a corp," Miri pointed out. "All I ever heard about the place was that it was a pirate haven too difficult for the local powers to deal with, so Y&P and several other companies pay protection money to keep them off their ships. None of the transport and shipping companies recognize the station as a legitimate port of call because their insurers won't allow it. The station's not governed by interstellar trade treaties."

"That's the beauty of being independent," said Felix. "You don't have to listen to some self-important government bureaucrat."

"Still, we should be careful about you leaving the ship," Henry said to Miri. "There are enough desperate people on Trinidad that any money on your head can make you a target, whatever our links to the station community."

Miri narrowed her eyes, and Henry caught it. He couldn't blame her for being suspicious. She was in an isolated position, soon to be at a station where she had no immediate familiar contacts and unable to trust alternate means of leaving. Her safest course was with them. It wasn't so hard to imagine that a former spy might consider those circumstances and think them intentional. She did not voice such, however, merely asking, "Are there any means for me to reach P&Y? If I explain what happened—"

The Shadow Wolf crew exchanged glances, some of them uncomfortable. Henry's was the most uncomfortable of them all. "Listen, I know you think your company is the best way to go public, but consider this. After you told them where you were, word spread all the way to the Lusitanian government and whoever that guy was who tried to take you on Harron.''

"I’ve thought of this as well," she admitted.

"If someone in your company is leaking information, telling them you're here could lead to more trouble precisely when we don't need it." And we still have to find out how the Tash'vakal tracked us.

"However, by not speaking to them, Karla Lupa becomes a prime suspect in the loss of the Kensington Star. The League's involvement will not be recognized." Miri’s glance darted from person to person.

"Nothing can be done about that," Henry said, even as a part of him recoiled at letting the League get away with whatever they were up to. "This is about surviving, not being a hero."

Seeing that the conversation was talked out, he rose from his chair. "Okay, everyone, we're on damage control until we get to Trinidad. Cera, Piper, you get the first off-watch period. Everyone else is either on the bridge or attending to what damage control we can manage while in vacuum. We're still eight hours out from the station. Let's get to it," he said, ending the meeting.

* * *

Cera's plan to rest was dashed by how wound up she still was from one of the closest calls she'd ever had. Her mind kept going back to those minutes under 2Gs, trying to evade the incoming fire and failing, and the desperate wait for Pieter to approve the jump. Finally, she rose from the bed in her quarters and went to the rec room, hoping that watching something might help her get some rest.

She found Piper alone in the room, reading a digital pad in one of the side chairs. "Hey."

Piper glanced up. "Hey, Cera. Can't sleep?"

"Neither can you, I'm bettin'."

"Nope," Piper confirmed, setting the reader down. "Too much on my mind."

"Still wound up, then? I know I am." Cera settled into the nearest chair and turned it to face Piper. "That was a mighty fine close one."

"Closer than usual." Piper nodded and ran a hand through her dark hair. She wore a latent frown. "It makes me think about what it'll be like at the end. I mean, when my life ends. How it'll end."

Cera considered that and what she remembered from the bridge. "You surprised me with finishing my Hail Mary," she said. "I didn't know you were in the Church."

"The Tohono O'odham half of my family is almost entirely Catholic," Piper said. "My Cherokee relatives aren't, but I grew up living with my father's family." Piper folded her hands over the reader. "I can't say I'm sure I count as one, though."

"Did ye ever confirm?"

Piper shook her head. "My parents talked to me about it, but it was left to my choice, and I didn't. I suppose I'm not sure the Church is right about things." She smiled sardonically. "Although I guess that didn't stop me from praying when I thought we might die."

"I think everyone prays when they think they're about t' die," Cera answered.

"It's probably a bit cultural. It doesn't require belief, just a bit of going through motions. Doing what's expected. An automatic reflex."

The idea caused Cera to shrug. "Or it's that part of you that's hopin' there's somethin' better. That wants God t' be real an' t' be just."

"What about you?" Piper asked. "How much do you believe?"

Cera's expression turned pensive. "Well, that's fair to ask." She put her hands together and leaned forward to rest her chin on them. "I believe there's a God because the universe is too beautiful t' be random chance. That He sent a son t' guide us… I can accept that too."

"Not just to guide."

"True. T' sacrifice himself for our sins too. T' save us from damnation."

Piper shook her head. "That's one of the things I didn't like about Church dogma or about Christianity as a whole, this entire idea of hell and eternal torture."

"Sin isn't allowed into paradise. If you've got sin on your soul, you can't get in."

"But what sin is so horrible that it justifies an eternity of pain?"

"It's not about individual sins, it's that any sin stains your soul an' keeps you out o' heaven, unless you've repented of it an' done penance. You've got t' go somewhere then." Cera shrugged. "I've heard talk that hell's not about flaming pits an' th' like, that it's just separation from th' presence o' God, an' that's torture enough."

"So no fire and brimstone and sulfur, just—"

"Darkness. Nothing. No light, no warmth. Just deathly cold."

"That sounds like torture to me." Piper shook her head. "And I'd rather get off this topic. It's morose."

"It is," Cera conceded. "An' it's reminded me that it's been too long since I last went t' confession."

"How long?"

Cera's forehead wrinkled as she considered the question. "Six months. I think. I may have been t' one when we were on Cantrim, but I spent most o' my time off-ship a bit drunk, an' some of it's a blur."

The admission drew a giggle from Piper. "I love our girls' nights as much as you do, but you do push it sometimes."

"I know, an' it's a stereotype t' some people, but life's here t' live, know what I mean?" Cera laughed lowly. "It's too short not t' enjoy it, especially when there's a war on an' such."

The war was always in the background of their lives, as it had been since the beginning. Most of the crew had only been little children, if alive at all, when the League revealed its arrival in Sagittarius by attacking Canaan. It was a bolt from the dark felt even in the neutral worlds like Sanctuary and New Connaught. Nobody knew if either side would expand the war one day or what would befall the neutral worlds if one side finally broke.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Piper suspected most knew, deep down, that the Coalition winning was in their best interest. A victorious League would quickly shed its would-be benevolence toward neutral worlds and attempt to conquer them regardless of their stance during the war. A defeated, broken Coalition, or one wholly occupied by the League, would make such a conquest inevitable.

The problem was that for many of the independent worlds, the Coalition was the devil they knew too well, so to speak. It was always the apparent threat to independence, going back to before the Saurian Wars, whatever it said about freedom. The overtly religious attitudes grated on many, giving the Coalition the air of being moralistic, holier-than-thou busybodies always passing judgment on their neighbors.

The League quickly exploited that sentiment, so people, even if they knew better, found it too easy to ignore the war, try to profit from it, or consider the League a necessary evil to restrain the Coalition. Even her own people often felt that way, whatever ties of culture and belief remained with the peoples in the Terran Coalition.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should've accepted th' flight academy offer," Cera admitted. "Through Tyrone, I mean. They're our sister planet, an' we get residency rights an' have since before they joined th' Coalition. Anyone from New Connaught can move there an' on into th' CDF."

"So you almost signed up for the CDF?" Piper asked, genuinely curious. As friendly as she was, Cera didn't always talk about the past, especially painful bits.

"I filled out th' paperwork an' everythin', would've gone t' flight school an' flown in th' CDF. I'd be fightin' th' good fight."

"You'd be in the war now." Piper considered how long ago that'd be. "Maybe even a squadron commander."

"Bollocks t' that. I'm no commander," Cera protested. "I'd probably still be a lieutenant, lots o' black marks on my record for fightin' an' boozin'. They'd never trust me t' command or train. I'd still be flyin' as a regular pilot. Or already killed." Cera shook her head. "Or worse, given what Oskar's said about how th' sassenach Leaguers treat POWs. Today, I'm glad I took th' other path. But at th' time… well, it seemed right. Lots o' New Connaught folk enlisted through Tyrone. I almost sent in th' final admission notice. But then my da an' mam got upset an' guilt-tripped me into not signin' it. I figure I upset th' CDF recruiters somethin' fierce when I backed out." Cera chuckled softly. "Poor bastards did all th' work, an' I let my parents talk me out of it. Instead, they got me work flyin' in-system cargo ships t' tide me over, keep me home."

Piper knew that Cera was an orphan. Her parents were dead. She was therefore careful when she asked, "And after your parents…?"

The brief wince on Cera's face was joined by the gratitude in her eyes at Piper's delicate reference to her parents. "By then, I admit, I had second thoughts about servin'. An' I figured th' CDF recruiters wouldn't be t' pleased t' see my name again. So I moved on t' interstellar transports. Then I got hired on by Captain Henry an' had everythin' I ever wanted. A tall ship an' th' stars t' steer her by." Cera's eyes grew distant for a moment, as if she could see into that other history, where her counterpart was fighting for her life against the League. It was clear she had no desire to switch places with that Cera McGinty.

"Captain's been good to us both," Piper agreed. "You fly, and I get to see the stars my grandpa showed me when I was a little girl. See them and fly by them."

"Aye." Cera drew in a breath. "Th' captain's got us in a bit o' a mess, he has, but I think he'll be gettin' us out."

"He'll certainly try." As Piper said it, she briefly recalled the terror of the fight with the Tash'vakal and shuddered at the thought that more such fights might be coming. I want to get this ex-spy whatever-she-is to Lusitania and get past this entire damn job. We're not out here to be heroes.

While Cera couldn't read her mind, it wasn't hard to guess what Piper was thinking. "Aye, he'll get us out, an' we'll go on t' th' next job. Leave th' fightin' t' th' people gettin' paid for it."

That was a sentiment Piper wholly agreed with.

* * *

Henry did his part with the repair work, helping Felix patch a minor hull breach on the upper deck, and headed on to the office to begin the work he dreaded. Before they made dock, he had to ensure the station had a hangar rated for repair equipment, which would cost more than a simple dock for cargo transfer, and he had to purchase the materials to fix the ship. Even with Trinidad Station having more starship hull-grade metal than it had grain, that was not going to be cheap. Hiring repair workers would add to the strain on the budget.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he called, looking up as the door slid open. Tia stepped in, looking both worn and cross. Henry breathed out a sigh while she closed the door behind her. That’s never a good sign. "You don't have to say it."

"But, I will anyway." Tia shook her head. "I told you this job would go bad. I damn well told you."

"You did."

Evidently, that wasn't good enough, because Tia kept going. "We survive out here by staying out of these kinds of messes. Now, you've thrown us in. And nearly got us killed."

"I did nothing," Henry answered, a finger pointed nowhere in particular. "I didn't volunteer us for this job. I was shanghaied into it."

"There are other business contacts who work with us, and we don't need Vitorino or Lusitania. The smart thing to do would be to cut our losses, Jim, and back out of this whole thing."

"We might not have that luxury," Henry said. "The repair costs are going to bring us to the brink, and we won't get paid by anyone if we don't get Gaon back to Lusitania."

"We'll scrimp as we always have. But if we stay in this…" Tia let out an exasperated sigh. "We got lucky. We might not again."

Henry went silent. It wasn't that she was wrong. They'd indeed gotten lucky, and it was true they might not again, and the situation was bringing them to the brink of being dangerously over their heads. Cutting their losses was the safe play.

But he couldn't accept that. He couldn't sacrifice Jules Rothbard to Caetano's nonexistent mercy. And perhaps there was some remaining scrap of the CDF officer he'd been who couldn't let the League win this one.

Tia shook her head. "You're not going to do it. I can tell."

"No, I'm not."

"We didn't sign on for this," Tia said. "We're spacers, not soldiers. It's not our war. It's not your war anymore, either."

"I didn't say it was. But I'm not abandoning Jules… or Miri Gaon, for that matter. What do you think would happen to her if we left her on Trinidad?"

Tia pursed her lips, pausing for a few moments. "Then let's hire her on. Whatever she was before, she's a spacer now. One of us."

Henry chuckled. "Wow. Okay, have you thought this through? Because, first off, you're assuming she'll say yes, when she's made it clear she wants to ensure the League gets exposed as being behind the attack. Secondly, you want to talk about putting us in danger? The League wants this woman. They want her badly, and they'd come after us to get her."

"They're after Oskar and Brigitte too. That didn't stop us from bringing them on!"

"They're also not as dedicated to finding them as they are her," Henry pointed out. "Whatever she did, they want her for real. Have you ever known the League to hire Tash'vakal to do their work?"

"I'm not surprised by anything the League will do," Tia said. Her expression remained hard, and she felt like the conversation had gotten away from her.

"I'm not either, but that's a major MO change, and you know it. It means they've got a big reason to go after Gaon, bigger than Oskar or Brigitte, and they're not going to stop because we don't take her to Lusitania. If we leave her on Trinidad, even if they know we did, they might still come after us just because of what she told us or could have told us." Henry leaned forward. "I've thought this over, Tia. Trust me. Our best way to safety is to get her to Lusitania. Then the job's over, we get paid by someone, and we're out of this."

Tia let out an inarticulate cry of frustration. "Damn you, Jim, you make it sound so reasonable, but we both know you're not objective about this. You want to save your friend's brother. You want to stick it to the League. And you're putting us at risk by trying to accomplish all of it."

"Don't you think I know that?” Henry said with a raised voice. “Of course I do! But think about it, Tia. Cutting our losses sounds simple and easy, but it's not. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment. They want Gaon silenced, and that's going to extend to anyone they believe she spoke to about what she saw. We're going to be on their list no matter what. It's too late to just cut our losses. We have to make going after us a moot point, and that means Gaon gets to Lusitania." Henry spoke with conviction, hiding the small part of him that wanted to agree with her, that wanted to get the hell out of Trifid right away. However, he’d done the calculations over and over again, and he'd considered the scenarios. His plan was the only safe way. Of that, he was utterly convinced.

Silence filled the office. Tia and Henry looked at each other intently, eye to eye, neither yielding. The silent tension remained between them the entire time. It only subsided when Henry leaned back in his chair. "This is why I asked you to become first mate when Muammar left," he said.

Tia nodded at the reference to her predecessor, New Arabia-born Muammar Qadir, a long-time spacer who’d retired a few years prior. "I still think you're wrong."

"I know."

"I'm going to check up on the repair progress. It's almost time for Yanik to be relieved, so…"

"I'll be on the bridge shortly," Henry promised. "Just let me finish up these calculations for our repair bills. Then I can see how screwed we are."

"Yeah." Tia sighed then turned to leave, getting to the door before looking back. "Do you think Ms. Gaon's testimony will work, given all of this? She's right that her corp will consider her suspicious for leaving Harron without a word."

"It's out of our hands" was his reply.

25

ISV Shadow Wolf

Magella System, Neutral Space

10 August 2460

The wounded Shadow Wolf burned into orbit of the gas giant Trinidad, the biggest of the gas giants in the Magella star system. The gas giant's particular mix of elements in its atmosphere gave it a bluish-brown hue that showed on one side of the Shadow Wolf's bridge display. The holotank provided a more complex picture, showing all of the gas-miner ships loitering in the atmosphere, using tethered collection arrays to draw up helium-3 and other useful elements from Trinidad.

Trinidad Station itself was in far orbit of the gas giant. It was an O'Neill cylinder of over ten kilometers in length and a little over two kilometers in diameter. Internally, a pair of cylinders rotated in opposite directions, eliminating gyroscopic effects that could alter the station's orientation relative to Magella and Trinidad. The exterior of the station was divided into six sections. Three were transparent, allowing for the giant mirrors arrayed from the end of the station to reflect sunlight into the interior during the station's scheduled daylight time. The other three provided the interior ground space. On the outside, they were navy blue, with lights running along the spine of each section. While one far end of the station provided the framework that supported the mirrors, the other end was tipped by the docking area for the station, which extended outward in eight arms that did not turn as the station's interior cylinders did.

"They don't make stations like that anymore," Miri remarked. With Henry’s permission, she was watching their approach. "Most stations use gravity generators exclusively now."

"In the Coalition, sure," Henry remarked. "But out here in neutral space, torus and cylinder stations that generate their own gravity with centrifugal force are still worth building. They're easier to provide power to without the need for big graviton generators and the fusion cores to run them."

"The design's a century and a half old too," Tia added. "The Coalition was probably building them back then."

Henry heard a snappish tone in her voice. He knew she was still unhappy about his choices and their situation, and a chance to get in a dig at the Coalition on behalf of non-Coalition worlds like her own was not something she was going to avoid, given the mood she was in.

"Trinidad Traffic Control has cleared us," Cera said. "They're givin' us a repair dock on th' third arm."

"Khánh's arm," Tia said with relief. "Good. I didn't want to deal with her peers."

"Neither did I. A good thing we stay in with the harbor controllers here. Speaking of which…"

Felix, standing in a corner and quietly watching Miri, nodded. "I've got that case of bourbon. I'm sure ol' Chief Hagerty'll love it."

"And keep us in good with the harbor controllers." Henry rested his elbows on the arms of his command chair. "Cera, take us in."

"Aye, sir. Conformin' t' traffic control instructions now."

Cera's piloting was skillful as always. She applied just enough thrust as the Shadow Wolf needed to negotiate her course to the arm in question. Some of the docks were external, mainly made for big ships that couldn't fit inside an internal dock, but the Shadow Wolf was just small enough to squeeze in. Cera used thrusters to bring the vessel in, port side facing the opening dock doors. A forcefield gently resisted their landing, but it was made for keeping atmosphere in, not keeping medium haulers out. The resistance only slowed the process. Cera adjusted and finished bringing the ship through. With seemingly little effort, she set the Shadow Wolf down on her landing struts smack in the middle of the repair dock.

The moment the ship was down, gantries swung into place. They secured the vessel and provided the means for repair crews to move over the ship's hull and do their job. One gantry also worked to secure an umbilical tube to the waiting external support port for the Shadow Wolf's life support and power systems. The universal-fitting umbilical ends detected the ship type and conformed appropriately, resulting in a physical link that would provide the Shadow Wolf with the atmosphere of Trinidad Station while topping off the ship's oxygen tanks. The attachment also provided electrical power to the vessel and a hard line to Trinidad Station's GalNet uplinks and quantum entanglement transceivers.

"We're secure. Shuttin' down engines," Cera said.

Henry keyed the intercom. "Engineering, we're landed. Go ahead and shut everything down."

"Doing so now, Captain," answered Pieter.

Henry triggered the intercom for ship wide address. "Okay, everyone, we've made it to Trinidad. While we don't have cargo to move, we do have repairs to make, and all hands will be on deck for that. Yanik will give you shift assignments. Off shift, all I ask is you come back sober enough to work."

"Like I'll be drinkin' any of that swill th' moonshiners make." Cera guffawed, wincing as she spoke.

Henry smiled back at her but ignored the remark. "I'll call a crew meeting before we get underway again, give you all a chance to get things off your chest. Henry out." He flipped the intercom off with a flick of the switch on his armrest. "Tia, if you'll join me?"

"Of course," she said.

The two left the bridge and made their way to the upper-deck airlock adjacent to the gantry walkway. By the time they stepped out, a small group of figures clad in green jumpsuits approached the ship. One was a Tal'mayan, another a Matrinad—his suit joined by a conformal helmet that contained the high-moisture atmosphere his species' physiology demanded—and the rest were human.

The lead was a woman of Tia's general complexion, although darker in skin tone and with brown eyes and short dark hair. A toolbelt hung around her waist, and her right hand was conspicuously ungloved and dark gray in color. Its gleam in the light of the dock was the shine of metal and not skin. "So how'd you get it shot up this time?" she asked pointedly. With a hand motion, she sent the others onward to finish their examination of the ship.

"You act like I always show up with my ship shot up," Henry replied. Although he didn't grin, he hoped his tone showed he was taking the teasing barb as it was meant to be taken.

"It is his fault this time. Partially." Tia approached and took the lead woman in a hug. "Comrade Linh."

"Comrade Tia."

"I ran into Felipe in Gamavilla. He sends fraternal greetings."

"No, he doesn't, because the son of a bitch has gone Leaguer on us," Linh Khánh said hotly. "He came through here six months ago to ask me to sign the amnesty, go home, and join the Social Solidarity Party. I nearly threw him out the airlock."

Tia winced. "I hoped to spare you that. He did the same to me."

"You told him no?"

"Yes, and I changed the subject rather than throw my Thanh liquor in his face."

That caused Linh to chortle. "Who are you, and what have you done with my dear Comrade Tia, who spat a shot of Thanh into the face of the company security agent sent to arrest her?" she demanded jokingly.

Tia laughed. "Like I'm going to waste even a shot of good Thanh on Felipe's idiocy. Besides, I have learned some restraint." With that, she cast a look at Henry.

Not particularly caring about Hestian exile politics, Henry remained quiet through the exchange, even though it was becoming time-consuming. Given the look on Tia's face, he grinned and nodded with a wordless reply. He didn't need to say anything.

After another giggle, Linh finally got to business. "So, who shot you up? If it was any of ours, I'll have their reproductive organs rendered into lubricant."

Tia shook her head. "We had a run-in with the Tash'vakal."

Linh frowned. "You did? What did they want?"

"A passenger we took on," Henry said. "It might be for the best if we don't go into detail, Khánh. It's a complicated thing."

Tia's expression turned neutral, and Henry had the feeling he'd only delayed the inevitable. Linh answered with a nod and let out a sigh as she beheld some of the damaged hull on the Shadow Wolf. "Well, you got your girl shot up, and we can fix her, but it's going to cost. Materials are scarcer these days, prices higher."

Henry nodded. He pulled a tablet from his pocket and handed it to Linh. "Here's our damage list and what we'll need."

Linh looked it over then shook her head. "Your estimate's about fifteen percent off," she said sympathetically. "Price hike just went through the guild, thanks to shortages from all the missing ships killing trade."

Tia ran the numbers in her head then gave Henry a concerned look. The same math went through his mind and with it the same conclusion: the repairs were going to bankrupt the Shadow Wolf's operating accounts.

It was clear that Linh recognized what was wrong. "I know independents run on a tight budget, usually, and jobs aren't too easy to find."

"Tell me about it." Henry sighed. "I… well, I'll need time. If I can get her spaceworthy to get back to Lusitania…"

"Jim, the trouble's not over. We can't go back out if half our holds are hulled," Tia said. She gave a pleading look to her old friend. "Is there any way to shave something off?"

"You know the rules, Tia. The station can't afford welfare. Given your drives, you're stuck here anyway until some repairs are made. You won't be making many more jumps with holes in your ship."

"We'll have to make do, then," Henry said. "Focus on the jump drive and minimal structural repair. When we run out of money, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Linh bit her lip. It was clear she sympathized with their plight. "Listen, let me make a call. I know you're a couple hands short for your engineering staff, and I've got someone who can help with repairs who's not formally on our crews, so you don't need my full team. I can give you a cheaper labor cost that way."

Tia gave her friend a worried look. "How will the dockworker guild take it?"

Linh answered initially with a sardonic look before speaking. "I'm not talking about sneaking you a scab, Tia. I've got an up-and-coming fetch tech who knows her stuff—I mean, she really knows it. She’s more interested in becoming a spacer than working the docks."

Henry could see where this was going. Fetch techs were the station's children who were interested enough in spaceships that the dock repair teams and engineers, ever in need of more hands, hired them on to help in small ways. They weren't paid in money or food, usually, but rather in knowledge, as they got to observe the actual repair teams do their jobs and learn them for themselves. Typically, the fetch techs were no older than seventeen and as young as ten, and some wound up in the dockworker guild in some capacity as a result of what they learned. "Well, as you said, we've got openings for engineer's mates," he said, showing his recognition of Linh's thinking. "If you think she'll work—"

"She will. Enthusiastically. Hartzog may have to pry her away from the fusion drives. She worked on my last installation, so she knows them a bit."

"Send her to me. Pieter and I will talk with her," Henry said.

"I will, after you come with me and we recalculate these figures," Linh answered.

"Yeah, I figured it was going to come to that." Henry grinned and followed Linh toward her office, leaving Tia to observe the examination crew as they continued to check the Shadow Wolf's wounds.

* * *

With the crew of the Shadow Wolf taking a break from repair work and letting the dock crew do their jobs, they found the time to see to their needs for sustenance or rest. Miri watched most of them in the galley, sharing a meal and talking amongst themselves. Only Felix and the ship's Boer engineer were missing from the gathering.

Impressive bunch, especially for independents. From what she'd overheard, the core group had remained unchanged for two or so years, with the two Leaguers and Felix Rothbard being the newest members of the crew. They showed the cohesiveness Miri heard was common for independent crews, especially those who were used to relying on each other and scrambling to cover for everything. They were perpetually understaffed and alone without a corporate support network, just the business and trade contacts they enjoyed at legitimate and not-so-legitimate ports across the neutral systems. There was something viscerally exciting about it even without the pirates.

At the same time, she was unsettled. Yes, Miri was confident that the ambush and this station being their destination in the escape were not preplanned, but the latter had the side effect of limiting her options. That left a part of her wondering if malintent lurked under the surface somewhere. They had to have known that as a corporate-employed spacer, she had nobody to trust on Trinidad Station and no means to ensure safe passage—the ISU was many things, but they were not a charter service. She’d remained reliant on the Shadow Wolf crew for her transport, and they still intended to take her to Lusitania, not New Cornwall.

The thought made her think about making a dash anyway. Trinidad Station reportedly had over a quarter of a million residents. She could slip into their numbers, go to ground, use the skills she'd learned to find a way to communicate her situation to P&Y, and see what she could do.

They won't send someone for you, Miri. As things stand, Okon is already suspicious of Karla Lupa. If you reveal you're suddenly on a pirate station, she's not going to believe your story about being attacked. She'll immediately presume this is a trap of some sort. You'll confirm you're a pirate, and your testimony will be ignored.

Miri clenched her fist. She owed it to her fellow crew on the Kensington Star to try to help them in some way. Whatever she disliked about them didn't matter anymore—they were fellow human beings, fellow spacers, going through the hell of a League socialization camp. If the League got away with whatever they wanted her old ship for, their suffering would be for nothing.

"I really wouldn't recommend making a run for it."

The male voice prompted Miri to turn. Felix Rothbard was standing outside the galley entry, staring at her with a quiet expression.

She returned it with a neutral expression. "What makes you think I am?"

"I was CDF, Gaon. I had occasion to work with CIS agents in my career," Felix replied, "enough to know how you think. Right now, you're considering how to get yourself extracted from this situation. You still want to get to the Astra Mater or P&Y HQ."

Miri kept her expression blank. "If you say so," she said quietly.

A small, wry smile formed on his lips, "Oh, I more than say so," he answered. "I know so. Understand, I don't blame you. I want the League stopped too. But we're your smart play."

"Are you?" Miri folded her arms and didn't hide her skepticism. "Mister Rothbard, how do you think my employers will take it when they find out Karla Lupa disappeared from Harron? Or when Patricia Okon of corporate security investigates my legend enough to prove Karla Lupa isn't real?"

Felix tilted his head to one side. "Before the latter, they won't know what to think. Your disappearance indicates either guilt or that the attackers found you first. Now for this Okon lady, yeah, I can see her deciding you were a pirate agent."

"And then my testimony is useless. The League goes right on attacking ships until they're ready for whatever they're up to."

"That's what gets me." Felix crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Just what're they doing, hunting down ships in neutral space? Especially since they're talking about making peace now. Something doesn't add up."

"The most obvious answer is that they have a large operation in mind for those ships. They captured Kensington Star," Miri pointed out. "They didn't destroy her. They want those vessels for something."

"Right. And that, well, that's pretty downright scary, if you ask me." Felix's face twisted into a frown. "Just what the hell do you do with that many civilian trading ships? No way in hell you make a combat fleet out of them. Even a single-system space navy with hundred-year-old Coalition ships are going to have a fair chance of kicking their asses up between their ears. The bigger targets like Lusitania or New Cornwall have modern fleets that would pulverize them."

"The League would not risk discovery and turning the neutral worlds against them on a foolish mission," Miri insisted. "They have a plan, and if my testimony does not reveal their involvement, they’ll have a chance to implement it." She watched Felix's expression. She could see he agreed, but only to a point. "Of course, you are not an objective observer here, from what I've heard."

"Yeah. My brother's life is on the line too." A pensive expression came to Felix's face. "Jewish, right?"

"Yes."

"Orthodox? Reform?"

"Orthodox. Once." As Miri spoke, she considered all the ways she'd violated the rules of her people in her life. Her rabbi uncle, Shlomo, would be horrified by how much pork and other unkosher foods she'd had, even if he would understand the circumstances. "Honestly, I don’t observe anymore. I know He is out there, but—"

Miri saw how the pensive look turned sympathetic and knew she'd met a kindred spirit. "You did things that God says you shouldn't," he said. "You have, but you had good reasons. Reasons that any preacher or rabbi would tell you were justified. But it gnaws anyway. Makes you feel unworthy."

Miri nodded. "Yes."

"I know that, God knows I do," Felix said, "assuming He's listening."

"He is."

"Jim says otherwise, whenever we talk about it. My brother, though? He believes. He knows in his heart that God's with him, that he's doing Christ's work, and he'll walk to a Lusitanian gallows with a smile if it comes to it."

Miri couldn't stop herself from wincing at the word "gallows." Visions of Lowery, the camp, Christopher Tobay, and Annette Zens filled her. She remembered their slow, horrible deaths and teared up as raw guilt crashed through her heavy heart.

"I'm sorry," Felix said. "Looks like I touched a nerve there." He swallowed. "Saw someone hung, didn't you?"

"Yes," she answered hoarsely. "Two courageous, kind people who trusted a fellow sufferer with their plans for freedom."

"And?"

"They died slowly for their mistake."

Felix's mouth hung open. "Christ Almighty," he said. "You were playing for high stakes, weren't you?"

It was for the mission. For years, she'd repeated those five words over and over. When the League fled Lowery after their horrible defeat at New Arabia, the loss she enabled, it'd seemed to justify everything. That feeling lasted only a short time, though. Then the nightmares began, where the specters of those she'd condemned to death or deportation haunted her, reminding her of the suffering she'd caused them.

"I was. And I prevailed. But success… success does not cleanse the soul of guilt," Miri replied. She turned away.

"I've been there," Felix called out. "You're not the only one. I've killed too."

"In battle. What I did… what I did was much worse." She spoke those words then continued to the room she'd been given, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

* * *

Linh's work crew didn't disappoint Tia. They moved with practiced thoroughness, cataloging all of the damage from the Tash'vakal attack while she looked on.

As enjoyable a sight as it was, Tia couldn't stop her frustrated, irritated feelings over the situation. Henry, damn him, was right about the stakes. Getting Gaon to Lusitania was their best bet. But Tia felt like he wasn't as objective about it as he should have been, not with Jules Rothbard's fate on the line, and not with Gaon identifying the League as behind the attacks. Becoming an independent trader, even entering League space on contracts, had not diminished the traditional enmity he felt for them. She worried that the chance to save a childhood friend and stick it to the League was clouding his judgment.

The worst thing, the absolute worst thing, is that he's right, and I know he's right. The League's after us now because of Miri Gaon, and they won't accept "we dropped her off at Trinidad and hightailed it" if we run into them. Not if they want to silence her.

Thinking of the League made Tia's fists clench. They had a lot to answer for with her people. They’d engineered their revolution then warned the megacorps about it, crushing the hopes of her abused, suffering people. The only thing good about it was that it'd opened Tia's eyes to the nature of the powerful. They cared only for themselves. The League, for all its rhetoric, was no different and was maybe even worse, given the scope of their lies. We should have known better. The oligarchs lied to us too.

"Someone's moody today." Linh's voice prompted Tia to turn her head. "Henry and I have made arrangements," Linh said. "And he's off to hire that fetch tech for your crew. He'll make her day."

"You think she'll be worth it, given what we can afford?"

"She's one of the good ones," Linh assured her. "Want to get a drink tonight? I've got a box of Thanh we took off a ruined transport, proper salvage."

"Maybe. If anything, it'll remind me that not all of my old comrades are dead or surrendering to our oppressors."

Linh shook her head fervently and lifted her right arm. "They took my arm and my pride, Tia. I'd have died if you hadn't gotten the tourniquet on in time, and they'd have taken me if you hadn't carried me to the extraction point. I know how much you wanted to stay and fight…"

Again, the furious sounds of a vicious urban battle filled Tia's head, brought up by her dear comrade's words. "I didn't get you all the way there," she said. "The mortar blast..."

Linh nodded. "You're lucky you still have all of your meaty bits, Comrade." She thumped her organic left fist against her metal right arm.

"As I recall, I'm lucky to be alive."

"The sad thing is, you know who pulled us to the extraction point?"

"Felipe." Tia swallowed and nodded. "To think even he's surrendering now and going over to the League, when he damn well knows they're the reason we failed. Justifying their betrayal, even."

"I threw him out before he tried that," Linh said. "I almost want to ask how…"

"Something about the League having to beat the Coalition and make the workers' revolution possible beyond Hestia." Tia snarled. "Even though they're worse than the Coalition. They oppress workers even more viciously than they are on Hestia. I've seen it."

Linh shook her head and let out a sigh. "Maybe we need to work through that Thanh to drown the memories. But right now, I'd better see to—"

"Chief!" The voice was not human nor entirely natural. Linh's Matrinad crew member approached. Through the faceplate of his atmosphere helmet, Tia could see the dark-pink and red scales of his skin and his almost entirely black eyes, like those of a dolphin mixed with a human. He was gripping something in his right hand.

"Crenan, what is it?" Linh asked.

The Matrinad opened the hand. Inside was a stubby piece of metal. "I found it attached in the stern of the ship, near the engines," he said through his helmet vocoder, which made the English sound tinny and stilted. Tia figured the vocoder was translating from the Matrinad's speech. "It doesn't look like any shrapnel I’ve seen before."

"No, it doesn't." Linh took the object and looked it over.

Tia noticed her expression darken. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"This is a micro-QET," she said, pronouncing "QET" as "kwet." "That is a quantum entanglement transceiver. Anyone with the right quantum signature and their own QET can read the location of this thing."

"A tracker," Tia said. "This is how the Tash'vakal found us."

"Oh, I'd bet my month's salary on it, Tia." Linh gave her a dark look. "Now, whoever did it knows you're here, on Trinidad."

"And they'll be coming," Tia said with a sigh. Things were definitely not going to get better.

26

After Jastavi's image disappeared from his desk's computer screen, Chantavit Li scowled and contemplated the unfairness of the universe.

They were on the cusp of a success that would shake the galaxy. Victory over the reactionaries, the throwbacks, and the superstitious fools was at hand. The petty nations ruling over the rich worlds would be on track to absorb into Society, which would see to the proper use of the wealth they’d squandered. So far, their foes were utterly clueless about their plans.

And yet, and yet, Miri Gaon and the impetuous anti-Social miscreants might ruin it all. Li took in a breath and imposed control on himself. He was letting his frustrations get away with him.

As for Gaon and the Shadow Wolf… Li's onworld contact was already working to bring Gaon to him. But he didn’t know if he could risk that the crew wouldn't decide to run, Gaon in tow, for the farthest star sector. That might diminish the risk to the operation, but letting the former operative get away would anger Admiral Hartford and impact Li's position.

More to the point, Li didn't want to risk her getting away, not after finding out she was the Traitor of Lowery. He wanted to see the two-faced religious zealot face justice for her crimes against Society.

For the time being, though, he had another matter to deal with, something that needed to be cleaned up. He knew full well his next call would not be pleasant. He forced a neutral expression to his face and placed the call anyway.

Allan Kepper appeared on the screen. A small, knowing smile came to the man's face. "They got away from your ambush, didn't they?"

"They did," Li said. "You didn't tell me their ship was so heavily modified."

"You didn't ask."

You individualist scum. You knew, and you hid it. You hid it due to your pride. However did our species survive such foolishness before the Society was created? "Well, I am through underestimating Captain Henry and his crew. How soon can you find them?"

"I know from the tracker they're at Trinidad Station. Say the word, and I'll have a ship out of Sektatsh by the end of the hour. I'll add it to the contract costs."

Li bristled at that. "The contract didn't have..."

"That was when I was taking one spacer from Sektatsh. Now I'm chasing an independent trader across several star systems to Trinidad Station and points beyond. You changed the job, now pay the extra costs." Kepper folded his arms. "Or I'm done."

"You didn't finish the job!"

"I gave you the means to track them offworld, following a complication you didn't adequately warn me of," Kepper shot back. "So, what'll it be, Li? You paying for the extra work, or is this call over?"

Li went silent for several seconds, as if making his choice. "I'll pay," he finally said. "For you and you alone, Kepper. This job has to be quick and clean to avoid more suspicions cropping up. We have a wider operation riding on Gaon not being able to testify about what she saw."

"Fine. I'll contract a ride to Trinidad immediately. I'm not very familiar with the station, so do you have anyone on-site to give me intel?" His grin was all business. "It'll save you money in the long run."

Typical individualist scum. He thinks I care about his scraps of paper and pointless bits of data. "We have intel on Trinidad. I'll have someone hand it over before you leave Harron."

"Fine. I'll wait for their call. Kepper out."

Once Kepper's face disappeared from the screen, Li sat back and considered his options. Harron—and Trinidad Station, for that matter—were technically in the operating area of the League External Security office in the League Embassy on New Kerala, but he had seniority over Captain Ruslov and the more pressing need. With that in mind, he keyed the QET for the embassy and called up the embassy to the Keralans. Ruslov, a man of pale complexion with Siberian features, appeared. "Commander Li," he said with respect in his Russian-accented English. "What might I do for you?"

"I need one of your people on Harron," Li said, "for an op with gamma priority."

Ruslov nodded. As a captain, he only had ultraviolet clearance, so he knew nothing about Hartford's plan. Li himself, despite his rank, was only X-ray clearance, but had a need-to-know for the good of the operation. "I can give you a list. Most are just informants and sympathizers in the major cities."

"I need someone who can get their hands bloody and keep a straight face," Li said. "Anyone there that can do that?"

Ruslov's expression didn't change. "Yes."

"Then send me their information." Li smiled pleasantly. "I have important work for them."

"Right away." Ruslov's image disappeared. Several moments later, a personnel file appeared on Li's screen. His systems finished decrypting it and displayed the information within.

Li grinned at the information.

* * *

Hartford listened quietly to Li's report. After it was over, he appraised the intelligence officer coldly. "So you have failed yet again?"

"Our intelligence on the Shadow Wolf and her crew was incomplete," Li said. "Had I known they were so well-armed—"

"You should’ve anticipated it," Hartford said, interrupting Li's excuse. "You should not have underestimated them. Your contempt for them cost us this chance to claim Gaon."

The look on Li's face told Hartford that he was right about that. He was allowing his contempt for people like this Shadow Wolf crew to color his judgment. "They are unusually well-armed for a ship of that type."

"That means their captain is shrewd. He understands the dangers he faces and prepares for potentialities, not assumptions," Hartford said, not hiding his contempt for Li's behavior and related failure. "A shame you did not match his diligence."

Li visibly bristled at the insult. Hartford suspected he was more offended by being compared so unfavorably to an "individualist" trading captain than he was by the reminder of failure. But he cared little for Li's feelings. His focus was on the threat to his operation. "Where is she?"

"Trinidad Station."

"I see. I will have ships ready to intercept them when they leave Trinidad."

Li's eyes narrowed. "You could jeopardize everything. If the local worlds find out we have ships in the region—"

"I will leave it to your experienced Ambassador Salinas to explain, along with her colleagues." Hartford grinned. "After all, few of those worlds care for Trinidad Station as it is. Hartford out."

Upon pressing the key to cut the channel, he looked up to the seemingly neutral expression on Commander Aristide's face. "You disapprove?" he asked, familiar with his liaison's expressions.

"I am concerned," she said. "Your desire to capture Gaon, while understandable from a social point of view, given her treason, does come across as…" For a moment, she became flustered. "My apologies, Admiral, but the thought is unbecoming."

Hartford put his hands together. "Allow me to hear it regardless, Commander."

"This seems to be a… vendetta, sir. An individualist vendetta." She spoke the word "individualist" with all of the vile that the term deserved, given what it meant to them.

"Ah." Hartford nodded. "I can understand that. Understand my desire for Gaon's punishment is a social one, Commander. She caused a terrible defeat and cost many thousands of our finest their lives and freedom. I shudder to think how many of them suffer in our enemy's camps, being subjected to their superstitions and polluted by their individualism."

"Yes. They will require much resocialization in the camps, especially for those held for much of the war," Aristide agreed. "But that does not address my concern, Admiral. If you send our ships to Trinidad or even near it, you risk exposing our presence. Even if the squadron overwhelms any defending ships and destroys the station, word will get out."

"Which is why I am not going to send our ships," he said. "At least, not our cruisers."

Aristide considered him for a moment. "A… test operation? But not against the station itself? It has some defenses and pirate bands that use it as a base. They would inflict damage and losses."

"Agreed. We will be in a position to intercept the Shadow Wolf on her way to Lusitania," Hartford said. "Given we have outfitted the weapon to our ships for the operation, these traders will not see the threat until it is too late."

Aristide considered Hartford's plans with that same neutral, controlled expression. After several seconds, she nodded. "It is a good plan, yes. I can see it working."

"I imagined you would," he said. "Alert the captains to take their ships out. It will be a worthwhile exercise to prepare for our main plan."

"Very well." With the final order given, she departed.

* * *

In the star system TR-1898, past the Spinward edge of the Trifid Nebula, space split open again to admit a cargo vessel on its way to the Tal'mayan colony of Dretani. Remaining behind was the ship, which had just rendered assistance against Jalm'tar pirates operating at the Spinward, the Morozova out of Cyrilgrad. The fact that the Morozova was a pirate ship itself gave the situation some irony, but the Tokarev brothers were honest, and ships and companies who paid them for protection received it.

With the action over and the crew returning to standby, the Tokarevs went to their shared office just astern of the command center to await after-action reports. Their desks faced one another. Each had holos of their slain father and uncle. It was hard for them to see those smiling faces of their closest male role models and not feel the voids in their hearts and souls. That pain soon gave way to renewed hate and a desire to kill Leaguers.

It would’ve been one thing if Sergei and Anatoly Mikhailovich Tokarev had been privateers or pirates. That life—their life—was a violent one. But they hadn't been. Their ship, the Titov, had been a mere transport. Their only crime was carrying missionaries from Cyrilgrad to a world the League had just asserted control over. Unfortunately, League authorities hated religion, and they especially hated missionaries, dismissing them as active agents of "anti-Social thinking and attitudes." The League of Sol put them all on trial and convicted them of "promoting anti-Social behavior and mental corruption." The elder Tokarev brothers and three priests of the Old Rite Russian Church were subjected to public execution by strangulation hanging. The crew of their ship had been forced to watch and were thrown into a socialization camp before being released at the insistence of the Trifid Neutrality Committee.

The committee had undoubtedly hoped to convince the Old Believers of Cyrilgrad to respect their action as upholding the neutrality of all worlds in the Trifid Nebula Region. Those hopes did not materialize. The persecution and execution of their people had been a harsh reminder of their past, and the Old Rite Church quickly adopted a virulent anti-League posture. Still young adults at the time, Piotr and Pavel decided they would avenge their father and uncle one dead Leaguer at a time, and fifteen years later, the Morozova was notorious for its willingness to attack even superior military forces in their quest for vengeance. Their success was aided by interstellar politics and the unwillingness of the League to send armed warships into neutral space.

And yet, the League had sent such ships in, according to Karla Lupa. The brothers were still wondering how to handle that.

"The squadron should gather at Cyrilgrad," Piotr said. "If the League's going to use warships in our space, we must be ready for an attack."

"That will do no good. We need allies, brother."

"It will be up to the elders back home," Piotr said. "All we can do is prepare for whatever they decide."

The discussion might have continued if not for a tone from Piotr's desk. Pavel looked up from the armory inventory. "What is that?"

"Interstellar message by QET, from Father Nikolai in Sektatsh."

"Ah."

Pavel returned to work, imagining the missionary was letting Piotr know how his mission was proceeding. Perhaps a donation is necessary.

Nikolai's voice came over the line. "It is dreadful, Piotr. God care for his poor soul!"

"Whose?" Piotr asked.

"Vasily's."

Piotr's face lost color and expression.

Pavel looked up, astonished.

"What happened, Father?" Piotr asked in a barely restrained tone.

"They found his body in his home. He'd been tied down and shot—shot like a beast!" Nikolai declared.

"Do they know who yet?" Piotr's tone made clear his interest. Vasily might have been an alien, but he’d had a kind soul. Moreover, he was a brother in Christ, a true believer. His death would be punished.

"The authorities believe it a professional attack. Someone wanted him silenced. But they will not investigate further. You know how they are about our converts!" Nikolai's voice betrayed his pain. He was known to care deeply for those whose souls he tended to. "I have a secret convert in the police force. I asked him to continue, but he can't. They are ordered not to. He believes it was a Calnin lordling or perhaps one of the priests of Tashin who killed our poor Vasily."

Pavel knew his brother’s facial expressions as if they were a language unto their own. Suspicion was painted across his face. "Perhaps, Father. Have you heard anything about the woman we asked Vasily to help?"

"No. I am afraid not."

"Please, Father, inquire about her with your sources. We'll do the same with ours," said Piotr. "And please, pray for my soul with Vasily's."

"Of course. Why are you worried, my son?"

"Because I may have helped cause his death, Father, and if so"—Piotr showed tears as he shook his head—"I will atone however I can."

There was a brief silence on the other end. "I see. You meant well, Piotr. God understands that."

Nikolai gave his standard farewell benediction, and the channel closed. Pavel drew in a breath and felt sick to his stomach. Vasily's heart had been good and kind. Slavery hadn't broken it, as it had so many others.

"Lupa. Something about her felt off," Piotr was saying.

"Or the League found out about her. They would have agents in place to hear things," Pavel pointed out. He gave his brother a sympathetic look. "Either way, we will find out what's going on."

"That we will, brother." Piotr reached for the intercom key. "Semyon, make our course for Harron, best speed."

"Yes, Captain!" came the response.

27

A lift brought Henry and a half dozen other people from the docking arms down into the station proper. He could feel the slight shift as they went from the graviton-generated artificial gravity of the docking arms to the centrifugal gravity of the O'Neill cylinder. The gravlift came to a stop at what passed for a customs station. Scanners checked him for dangerous firearms, weapons that could potentially pierce the hull, and cleared him to go through. His charged particle pistol was not so capable. It was why he'd bought the Danfield-Colt CP-2520 in the first place, given the number of space habitats and stations their work took them to.

Past the customs station, Henry followed the directions to head to the Quetta District. It was one of the mostly residential living areas on the station and where Linh's fetch tech lived. Going there required a transport car ride, with another open view of the station's interior. Magella's light filled the interior, a combination of gardens and farmland with blocks of residential housing.

The first stop warned humans not to get off without atmospheric helmets. They were in the Matrinad District, which sustained its internal atmosphere at Matrinad standard. It could nearly drown a human being inside of five minutes. One female Matrinad stepped off the lift, and none arrived.

After a couple more stops in commercial areas, the car arrived in Quetta. Henry stepped out of the car and followed the path out of the station and into the district proper. If not for the sight of the interior of the station, the community looked as if it would fit in with the poor sections of half a dozen planets he'd been to. He consulted the information from Linh again and started walking down the street.

As he followed the way to his destination, Henry watched the residents of the district go about their lives. From what he'd heard, some were war refugees and others fugitives from one world or another. The majority were from worlds settled by those who'd left the Indian subcontinent back in the exodus, mixed with peoples from Sumatra and Malaya. Many of the men were bearded, and the women tended to wear head shawls, although only a few veiled their faces. Few of the locals paid him much mind. His clothing was the kind a lot of independent spacers tended to wear off-ship, after all. And spacers were nothing new for the people there.

A residential six-story building proved to be his destination. He went through the opening foyer, went past a lift that looked either broken or about to break, and took the stairs up three floors. Once there, a minute's trip through the halls took him to the door number he was looking for. He touched the door chime and waited patiently.

And then not so patiently.

Finally, after a few minutes, he was ready to hit the chime again. Just as he went to the door, it opened. A man with a brown complexion and thinning, whitening dark hair appeared at the door. He seemed to be favoring one leg. "It is prayer time," he scolded.

"My apologies, I didn't hear," Henry replied. "Linh Khánh sent me."

"Over my niece, I suppose. Are you new to the repair yards? I haven't seen you around."

Before he could finish asking the question, a young woman bounded up to the doorway. Henry guessed she was between sixteen and twenty years of age. She shared the man's complexion and hair color—but obviously with no gray or white in it—and bore a clear family resemblance. She wore plain clothes of blue and white coloring, and her hair went down to her neck. Given she was making no move to pull a hijab on, Henry assumed she was not the observant type. She seemed more curious than anything. "Who are you, and what have you to… oh, wait!" She gave Henry a close look, and her eyes widened a little. "You're the captain of the Shadow Wolf."

"James Henry, and yes," he said. "Chief Khánh called ahead about me?"

"Well, yes, but I remembered you anyway," the girl said. "Your ship was one of the first she installed a fusion drive on. I saw your picture while I was studying the installation."

The uncle made a disapproving sound. "Samina, you should introduce yourself and invite him in before pestering him with your hobbies."

For a moment, Henry thought the girl would fire back a retort, but she caught herself while glancing toward the older man. "Yes, Uncle, of course." She looked back at Henry. "My name is Samina Khan, and this is my uncle, Ali. Please, come and have a seat."

"Thank you."

The two led him into their living quarters. Henry noted that Uncle Ali limped badly and trailed behind his niece. He briefly wondered what kind of injury it was and whether it was treatable.

The apartment amounted to a big living area and kitchen space with two small bedrooms on opposite ends of the room. Their furnishings were second or even thirdhand. One was a recovered chair from a ship, given its structure. Samina took that while her uncle took a fairly comfortable-looking recliner. Another one, of fabric covering, was left for Henry to take.

"Tea?" Ali asked. "I still have a little chai left."

"Thank you, but no." Having heard more of their accent, Henry finally placed it. "You're from Jinnah?"

They nodded. "We were."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was already out of the CDF when I heard about it. You were among the lucky ones to get out before the League's fleet cut off all escape?"

"I brought my ship in to evacuate my family and as many as I could," Ali said. His expression turned dour. "All we had left was the ship. My niece grew up on it." He gave her a knowing look. "Which explains her infatuation with machines."

Henry nodded. "A spacer family, then."

Pain showed in their eyes. Samina went silent, leaving it to her uncle to answer. "We were, for a time. Then a pirate attack caught us one jump away from here," Ali explained. "The ship was a wreck, but we managed a jump. Samina and I were the only survivors. Since then, we have lived here, doing what we must to survive."

Henry caught tears forming in the girl's eyes before she wiped them away. He sighed. "Your family's been through a lot," he said. He didn't say what was on his mind, that they were living what might happen to any independent trader who lost their ship to accident or violence, trapped where they were rescued, unable to go anywhere else.

"Chief Khánh's message said you had an offer to make to me," Samina said.

"Yes. Well." He nodded. "My ship's not a loss, but we took some severe damage against Tash'vakal raiders, and it's going to drain my finances to fix it with station labor. Khánh thought you might be interested in signing on as an engineer's mate to help with the repairs and my costs."

Judging by the bright smile that leapt to her face, Samina liked hearing it, but she seemed to find a snag immediately. "I'm too young to join their crews, I know… wait, when you say 'engineer's mate,' do you mean… you want me to hire onto your crew?"

"I do," Henry said, "if we can work it out."

For a moment, he thought the young woman would burst. She fought back a squeal of joy.

Ali gave Henry a dark look. "You come to my home and try to take my niece away from me? To risk the last family I have left in the world?"

Henry wondered if the uncle was indeed that opposed, which might have swung her. "I came to give her the choice," he said.

"I… I want to talk to my uncle first," Samina said. "To discuss it with him."

"Fair enough. I can wait outside, if you'd like."

"If you are going to disturb my day, do more than that," Ali Khan said glumly. "Two buildings spinwise of my home is a café. They make excellent nihari."

Henry got the hint and stood. He held back the sigh until he was out of the apartment.

* * *

As soon as the spacer captain was gone, Ali turned to Samina. "I cannot stop you. Allah knows I would if I could."

"Would you, Uncle? I could finally earn money, real money. You could go back to living on a planet, as you've wanted for so long."

"Not for this cost," Ali insisted. "Not at risking your life, Samina. Your parents would come back from paradise to strangle me if I got you in trouble."

"I'm an adult now," she insisted. "I'll have to go somewhere dangerous, eventually. The dock teams' jobs are dangerous too."

"I know, and that is why I didn't want you taking that work, either." Ali sighed. "But there is no other work. Nothing but charity from the district."

Samina leaned forward and took her uncle's hands. "I know you want what's best for me, Uncle. If you truly believe I should tell Captain Henry no, I'll do so." As she spoke, it was clear she wouldn't be entirely happy about it, but she did mean it. She would listen to him. "My parents would be angry at me if I disobeyed you like that, after all."

Ali gave her a knowing look. "Ah, look at what manipulations I have to put up with! From my brother's daughter, even. God help me, I'm putty in your expert hands." He chuckled, and made it easy for her to giggle lowly. "Samina, I'm an old cripple who worries a lot for my brother's beloved daughter. But I won't lie to you and claim this may not end up in something better. Captain Henry… I have heard some of the captains I still know speak of him. He pays his crew well, listens to them, shows them loyalty, and what he asks for in return is no less than what I asked of my crew. As independent captains go, he is the best you can do. Certainly better than the pirates."

"Then I have your blessing, Uncle Ali?"

He nodded. "You do, child." He freed one hand from hers to put it to her shoulder, which quickly turned into a strong embrace. Each was the only thing the other had left in the world, in terms of family.

Indeed, Samina felt a brief surge of doubt about leaving her uncle behind and going into space without him and his guidance. There was so much she wanted to see and so much to do. It was a chance to work with the machines that fascinated her so. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do it, which only made the feeling that she was abandoning her uncle all the stronger.

"I will be fine, Samina," he assured her. "You’re not abandoning me. This is what Allah means for you."

"You believe that, Uncle?" She sniffled.

"I do," he assured her.

Hearing him say that lifted a burden from Samina's soul. "I'll call and write whenever I can," she promised.

“I will do the same."

With all of that said, Samina was able to push away the lingering doubt, the part of many people who saw change coming and feared it, whether or not it was voluntary. This was an opportunity she’d yearned for, and she wouldn't let that sentiment get in her way, not with her uncle supporting her in it.

When Henry returned with the nihari and an assortment of curried dishes, he found that Samina was already packing bags. "Captain, I hope you'll have me," she said.

"Welcome to the crew, Miss Khan."

She was satisfied with his smile and nod.

* * *

Henry returned from the Quetta District to find the others waiting. Tia stepped forward and showed him a small gray cone. "Linh's teams found a tracking device," she said.

Henry looked it over and frowned. "It wasn't inside the ship, was it?"

She shook her head. "They found it near the rear. It didn't cause any breakage on the hull, so the sensors didn't notice."

"Looking at it, I'd say it was delivered by gun," Felix added. "The CDF issues this stuff to covert operations teams. Rounds loaded with micro-QET trackers."

"I doubt this fellow was working for the CDF."

Felix nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm sure some of the super-wealthy megacorps have them as well. The League might too."

Henry balled a fist around the tracker. "We're not safe here," he said. "They know we're at Trinidad. We'd better get the repairs done ASAP."

"Tia says you were off to hire me an engineer's mate," Pieter said. "Any luck?"

"Yes. She'll be along soon. Still has to finish getting her things in order," Henry said. "Her name is Samina Khan, and you're either going to love her or hate her."

Pieter chuckled. "As long as she knows how to use an autospanner and the difference between a plasma manifold and a thrust controller."

"That won't be a problem, I think." Henry glanced back down at the object in his hand. "Okay, I need to make a call." The worried look he gave Felix said everything. "Tia, Pieter, send them where you need 'em."

"Right away." Tia nodded before turning to face the crew. "All right, Vidia, Piper, I want you to deal with…"

Henry didn't bother listening to Tia's repair-duty assignments. He was too busy in his own head, figuring out what he was going to say to Caetano. He went into his office and brought the office's computer systems up. A few keystrokes connected him to the communications relays built into Trinidad Station's systems. He sent the call out to Lusitania.

Vitorino was the first to reply. He appeared on the display screen, wearing a black tie and an elegant suit that probably cost as much as the average Lusitanian worker made in a year. "Captain Henry. I had expected you to be back shortly. Is everything all right?"

"We were ambushed," Henry explained. "We're repairing now at a space station." He wasn't about to mention being at Trinidad. Even if their pursuers had to know, it was something he wanted to keep quiet for the time being.

A small frown leapt onto Vitorino’s face. "I trust the damage was not too severe?"

"It was severe enough," Henry said. "I've got structural repairs to complete before I can risk a gravity-well landing."

"Then you will be delayed further. I understand, although I admit to disappointment."

"Well, these things happen when I've got the people behind the attack chasing the witness to silence her," Henry said with a hint of irritation. He still considered revealing Miri's accusation that the League was responsible, but his instincts held him back. He had to play things close to the chest. "Whoever they are, they've got serious hardware support and the pull to sic the Tash'vakal on us."

Vitorino pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes. It was inconsiderate of me. You've done what you can, Captain. But I am very eager to consult with the witness in person. Please, get her to Lusitania as quickly as possible."

The call ended abruptly. Henry briefly wondered if Vitorino could read minds and knew he was thinking of asking for cash to help with his repair bills. He banished the thought and set up for another call.

After a couple of mid-level functionaries required waiting times, Henry found himself face-to-face with Cristina Caetano. She seemed somewhat rushed, as if in a meeting or just out from one, and unlike Vitorino, she was wearing functional business clothes. "Captain, I was expecting your return by now. What is your situation?"

Henry repeated the news of the ambush and the need to stop for repairs.

To her credit, Caetano did not protest the occurrence. "It is good that you fought the raiders off," she said. "The Tash'vakal have long been a nuisance."

"I'm pretty sure they were hired by whoever is behind the attacks."

"Possibly. It does raise questions, given recent reports."

Henry furrowed his brow. "What reports?"

"That is not your concern, Captain," Caetano said sternly. "Now, I would like to speak to the survivor. I cannot get an official statement until she is planetside, of course, but I would like to know where her statement will lead."

Given the leverage Caetano had, Henry decided not to be coy even if he didn't like her hiding things from him. "I'll call her in." He reached for the intercom control at the right end of his desk. "Ms. Lupa, please report to my office."

Caetano said nothing during the interim. Henry noticed she glanced away from time to time, and he suspected she was typing something. He remained quiet and waited patiently.

After about a minute, the door slid open. Miri stepped in. "You asked to see me, Captain Henry?"

On the screen, Caetano returned her attention to him while Henry called her over. Once she could see the screen and the recorders could see her and show her to Caetano, he said, "Karla Lupa, this is Cristina Caetano, Minister of Defense for the Republic of Lusitania."

"Madame Minister," Miri said and swallowed nervously.

"Ms. Lupa. I cannot take an official statement from you until you are on Lusitanian soil and can be given a proper deposition by my security forces, but I would like to know, unofficially, what you know. What happened to the Kensington Star?"

Henry gave Miri a glance. If she wanted to do her part to call out the League, there was her big chance. He listened as she spoke succinctly and without wavering. "She was attacked, ma'am. By the League of Sol."

Caetano's eyes narrowed. "Truly?"

"Yes, ma'am." Miri recognized skepticism, as did Henry, but she pressed on. "They disabled our drives and communications, I'm not sure how. I saw their Marines board and hid in my cabin until I could slip away."

"How did you get away?"

"I put on an EVA suit and spaced myself."

Henry noted the intent look that came to Caetano's face. Her blue eyes glistened with interest aimed at Miri. "How did you know you would be rescued?"

"I didn't."

Skepticism returned. "So you spaced yourself without anticipation of rescue? Why?"

"It was my only choice," Miri said. "I have a… history with the League, ma'am. They would have executed me when they found out who I was."

Henry and Miri watched with interest to see if Caetano believed her. "Well," Caetano said. "Quite the explanation. I look forward to your legal statement when you arrive on Lusitania. Rest assured, Ms. Lupa, that you will be protected while a guest of the state, and if the evidence makes your charges clear, I will happily arrange for your further protection from the League. Now, Captain, please hurry your repairs along. Things are proceeding swiftly here on Lusitania, and I desire Ms. Lupa's official testimony to be available."

"We're already working on repairs," Henry assured her. "I'll keep you posted."

"Yes, you will." She cut the line.

"That woman is terrifying," Miri said. "I have seen her kind."

"I bet you have." Henry sighed. "And Felix's brother is still at her mercy."

Miri nodded. "I understand you wish to free him from her. But would you trade my life for this man? Because that’s what you might be doing. If she doesn't believe me…"

Henry swallowed and glanced away. "I'd rather that not happen."

"It might." Miri let out a sigh. "Well, at least she will more likely have me shot as a pirate if she doesn't believe me. Better to be shot than spaced."

"Yeah, I hear you."

28

In the offices of the Lusitanian Defense Ministry, Cristina Caetano sat at her desk and directed her attention to the image of her counterpart from New Cornwall, Alistair Maurier, on her screen. "Then you have heard nothing further yet?"

"The Astra Mater is still in orbit over Harron," he replied. "They're awaiting further word from the investigators on Sektatsh. The ISU's hostel shows Lupa departed of her own free will and never returned."

"While leaving behind her personal effects?"

"She had little to leave behind." Maurier smirked, the expression coming across as quite smug. "Given what we've been shown by Ms. Okon, the head of P&Y's security office, it's looking more and more like Lupa was a pirate, herself. We're coming around to the view that she works with the Tokarevs. Their supposed rescue of hers is a little too convenient, if you ask me."

"Not for Ms. Lupa, if she is sincere," Caetano opined.

Maurier snorted. "Unlikely."

Caetano didn't match his bemused look. "I've heard the League may be the suspect she indicated to P&Y?"

"I can confirm it, and we're discounting it," Maurier said. "It makes little sense they'd provoke this while they were pursuing peace. Besides, it only strengthens the suspicion that the Tokarevs put her up to this. Their hatred and brutality toward the League is notorious. I wouldn't be surprised if they're behind all these disappearances. That entire colony of backward Russian fanatics has been trouble since they first founded Cyrilgrad."

"They are one of many nuisances, yes," Caetano remarked carefully. "I trust you will keep me informed regardless of the outcome?"

"Of that, you can be assured. The PM is quite keen on presenting a common front with Lusitania and other key worlds on this issue, and I have been given instructions to that effect."

"I have similar instructions from my Prime Minister, and I will provide you the same. Good day, Defense Minister." With a tap of a key, Caetano ended the call. She smiled to herself and let her contempt for Maurier and the administration of New Cornwall stew. The truth was that they were desperate to exonerate the League—otherwise, they would be forced to take a stand against it or be shamed before all the other worlds. Given their anemic fleet and even more anemic foreign policy, she suspected they would choose shame and probably get war anyway.

An incoming message from one of her subordinates in the PdDN appeared on her link. Upon reading the text, she smiled. Everything is going according to plan.

The smile faded when her secretary sent another message, text only, that Assemblywoman Ascaro had arrived to see her. Caetano signaled to let the Basque democrat in and stood as the door opened.

Ascaro came in, fired up as always. "This is the last straw, Caetano!" she shouted. "I am going to President Vargas with this!"

"I beg your pardon?" Caetano raised her eyebrow. The invocation of Lusitania's Head of State, Emilio Vargas, was of interest, although of little threat since the Estado Novo's constitution had strictly limited his ability to restrain the government.

"Your party thugs are vandalizing my offices again!" Ascaro shouted. Her commlink came up to show the chaotic scene of a political-party office that looked like a miniature tornado had run through it. A tornado capable of writing the Portuguese language, at that, with "Death to Traitors!" painted on the wall. The image depicted a young man with a face beaten into a particular shade of purple. "You’re supposed to maintain law and order in our country. You call this order?"

"And yet your party is persistently hostile to the Estado Novo and the defense of Lusitania, including that same law and order," Caetano replied coolly. "You consistently oppose efforts to protect our people from threats. In these troubled times, you must be aware that such controversial stands will invite difficulties from the patriotic."

"Patriotic? Patriotic! This isn't patriotism. It is fascism!" Ascaro raged. "You are deliberately undermining what's left of Lusitanian democracy!"

"The same democracy that has been voting for my candidates more and more for over a decade," Caetano noted. "For all of your protests, you come into my office, surrounded by my party followers and subordinates. Are you not afraid I would have you assaulted, Assemblywoman?"

"I wish you would, so that I might show our world the threat you pose!"

"Your family feels the same way?"

To that, Ascaro's expression went stone cold, and fury burned in her dark eyes. "You would dare?"

"I would never harm you, Assemblywoman, as you are a member of the assembly and thus part of the state," Caetano said. "Your family are under the same umbrella. Should you be harmed, I would ensure your attackers were prosecuted to the full extent of Lusitanian law, even if they were the most patriotic members of my party. I am merely asking if you are that willing to put your family in the crosshairs of our political differences."

Though Caetano spoke with reserve, her words did not do anything to quell Ascaro's anger. "So you would sacrifice your own followers to strike at me. That is what I hear you saying!"

"Then you have poor hearing," Caetano retorted. "You are the perfect example of why democracy is bad for our people in these times. You do not show judgment. You act on passion. You would drag our people into the war on those passions or otherwise sign away our independence. That is why I oppose you. This is why I seek greater strength for the state."

"You want the power for yourself," Ascaro shot back. "And I must stop you."

"Now who is threatening whom, Assemblywoman?" Caetano asked.

"I am not a fascist. I am a democrat. I will win the democratic way!" With that, Ascaro turned and stormed from the room.

As she left, Caetano returned to her seat. "How interesting it would be if you were to succeed," she murmured to herself.

* * *

Samina Khan was used to taking the lifts up to the docking arms of Trinidad Station. What she wasn't used to was carrying bags of personal belongings with her. Despite her protests that her living space on a ship would be limited, Uncle Ali and some of the neighborhood women collecting the Zakat in Quetta insisted on loading her with clothing and comfort items. Their pestering about a good first impression also led to her using her most colorful hijab, a gift from her mother that had bright reds and blues and greens in repeating, contrasting lines. From what Samina had seen, by the time she left Quetta, the entire district knew that she was off to join a ship crew.

She almost stumbled under the weight of the bags slung on her back and over her arms. After adjusting to that weight, she found her footing and walked toward the dock Captain Henry had specified. The dockworkers and spacers around her gave her some space but said nothing more.

As she approached the double sliding doors leading into Repair Dock 3-G, a figure stepped up beside her. "Let me help with that." A metal hand picked up one of the bags on her left shoulder and lifted it.

As the doors to 3-G opened, Samina looked over and slightly up to face Chief Khánh.

The Hestian woman smiled at her. "Ready for a new life, fetcher?"

At the nickname given to the most appreciated fetch techs—in comparison to the more childish "fetchie" the others merited—Samina beamed with pride and nodded. "Thank you so much, Chief. I… I don't know how I can repay you."

"Samina, you're a regular prodigy, and you've done good work on my teams these past few years," Linh answered. "This is me repaying you." She made a face. "Mostly."

"Oh?"

She sighed. "The woman who saved my life in the revolution is Captain Henry's second-in-command. He’s done a lot for her. He took her in when she needed an ally—well, an ally who wasn't a cripple." Linh gestured to her hand. "So when they need help to get repairs done without becoming paupers, well, I couldn't say no to that."

Samina swallowed. "So… this isn't just finding me a good ship and crew. You're looking out for them too."

Linh nodded. "I am." She gave Samina a sly look. "So yeah, it's a bit of pressure on your shoulders, fetcher, but I think you've got what it takes. I'm trusting them to look out for you just as much. Let's go introduce you and hope they've got room for all of this." She held up the bag. "Did your uncle demand you take your whole wardrobe?"

Samina blushed. "Only most. For when I go to other worlds and must protect my modesty."

"Well, Tia will help you there. If men bother you, just let her know. The girls on the Shadow Wolf will back you up."

As they approached, Samina noted the damage to the Shadow Wolf. It was not the worst she'd seen—it didn’t compare to what had been left of her Uncle Ali's ship when the salvagers got it back to Trinidad Station, with only her and Ali still alive among the crew. By that standard, the Shadow Wolf wasn't so badly off. "You fit the fusion drive assembly in the aft holds?" she asked Linh.

"Best place for 'em without having to cut out the entire stern," Linh replied. "They keep the aft holds in vacuum to fool customs inspectors. Independent traders typically get by on shoestring budgets, so inspectors usually don't think twice."

"That's clever," Samina said, still surveying the damage. The ship was spaceworthy but would require days of repair work. "They couldn't afford a full crew with the material costs?"

"Not with the recent price hike. You're their best shot at getting this thing moving in a reasonable amount of time."

Metal stairs brought them up to the walkway for the middle gantry. They led to the ship's port airlock, set between the front and middle holds. Nearby, a repaired hull breach was being resurfaced by a man with darker skin than Samina's, his hair arranged in rows on his head. It was a style Samina was not familiar with. She watched the head turn so the man could face her with a pair of light-brown eyes. "Sister," he said in an accent she couldn't place. "Peace ta ya."

"Um, to you too. Are you one of the Faithful?" Samina asked, given his chin had a beard as well.

To that, he laughed. "All of us are Faithful in one way or another. I’m a Bahá'í myself, an' we see the followers of Abraham, Christ, an' Muhammad as siblings, all seekin' the truth of God, just as we."

"I see." She bowed her head to him. "Well, it is good to meet you. I am Samina Khan."

"Vidiadhar Andrews. From New Antilla, if you're wonderin'."

"I was born on Jinnah."

"Ah." His eyes fell. "Ya lost a lot ta the League then, sister?"

"My family's home. Pirates killed my parents and cousins." Samina's voice caught a little with emotion. Jinnah was becoming more of a dream than memory, but the wound from her parents' death, the hollow in her soul, could still ache when she least expected it.

"God doesn't always ease the pain," he said to her. "Can't without takin' something away from us. But ya don't worry. You’ll see them again."

"Do you know where Tia is?" Linh asked him, interrupting the conversation. Samina could see that Linh wanted her to get to know her new shipmates, but Linh also had work to do.

Even as she spoke, the door was sliding open. Samina watched a woman emerge who had Linh's complexion, if lighter and closer to the brown tone of Samina's own skin. She had a similar facial structure to Linh, as well, but with stormy gray eyes. "I'm here," she said to Linh. Her eyes turned to Samina. "So this is our new engineer's mate?" A small grin crossed her face. "You know this isn't a pleasure ride, right, kid?"

"Sorry." Samina sighed, suitably embarrassed. "It's my uncle, he insisted. And the ladies from our district charity joined him."

Tia let out a small chuckle. "I heard your uncle was a spacer. Certainly, he should know better. Well, good news for you is that we're shorthanded enough that we don't double-bunk. As things stand, you'll get a room to yourself."

"I'll leave her to you, Tia," Linh said, setting down the bag she'd carried for Samina. "I've got a guild meeting in half an hour. See you tomorrow for the repair overview?"

"I'll be there."

Satisfied, Linh walked off.

"Looking good, Vidia," Tia said to the man, who nodded back before returning to work on the resurfacing. She glanced Samina's way again and, after a moment, reached down and took the same bag Linh had carried for Samina. "This way, Miss Khan."

Samina dutifully followed the first mate of her new ship into the hall inside the airlock. "This is a Holden-Nagata, right?" Samina asked. "Mark VI?"

"Mark VII, actually."

"Ah. Yeah, that makes more sense. But what about the bulge between the holds? Below the lower deck? That's not standard."

"Nor is our fusion drive," Tia pointed out. "We'll explain once you're settled."

Together, they went through the upper deck to the living quarters. Inside was an unfurnished room, save for a mattress on a plastic bedframe. It was a little less space than Samina lived in with her uncle, which said more about that confined space than anything about the room on the ship. Samina set her things down and noticed a weird smell. "What is that?"

Tia sighed and shook her head. "We've never quite gotten the smell out. Several months ago, we tried out a Tal'mayan hand for a couple of trips. He couldn't lay off the sweet smoke. It permeates the walls now."

Samina's nose curled. "I still don't get why it's called sweet smoke."

"Because to them, it tastes sweet. Or something. Put some air fresheners in the room, and you can fight off the smell. Until then, let me give you the tour."

Tia showed Samina the rec room and the galley next then took a trip to the infirmary. Captain Henry's office and the bridge came next. Finally, they journeyed to the back of the ship for the engineering spaces. Three medium-weight fusion cores powered most of the ship's systems and were arranged in a triangle in the rear section of engineering. Coolant and electrical cabling abounded, as did the framework toward the bow for the Lawrence drive. She knew from the ship model’s layout that the drive was accessible from both the upper and lower decks and noted it'd been opened up from above. A light-skinned man leaned over it, working on something inside. Before Tia or Samina could say anything, he pulled himself from it and looked their way with a pair of blue eyes. His sandy hair was slick from oils. "Ah, there you are," he spoke with an accent Samina hadn’t heard before.

"Samina, this is Pieter Hartzog, your new boss," Tia said. "Pieter, this is Samina Khan."

"So you're the nice fetch tech the lady boss's friend recommended, eh?"

The way he drawled out the "oo" sounds was strange to Samina's ears, and she struggled to place his accent.

He grinned at her. "You think I talk funny, do you?"

"No, sir," she said politely. "I just… I'm not familiar with it. Where are you from?"

"New Oranje, girl. Ah, that's right. I'm a nasty ol' Boer, gonna hate and abuse you 'cause your skin isn't white as pearl." Pieter gave her a sardonic look.

Tia rolled her eyes. "Don't mind him. Whatever idiocy they practice on his homeworld, he doesn't follow it."

"Yeah. I'm harmless unless you f—unless you foul up my engine. Then, yeah, I get mean. But Chief Khánh says good things about you, and she's got good judgment. Ready to show what you can do?"

Samina nodded. She could put her things away later. Getting right to work sounded right to her. She pulled the hijab from her head. "I am."

"Well, don't want to get your pretty dress ruined." Pieter motioned to a locker. "Get a spare jumpsuit and get over here. We've got a Lawrence drive to overhaul."

"Yes, sir!" Samina responded, not hiding her enthusiasm. She knew Lawrence drives and had worked on them even before she and Uncle Ali were stranded on Trinidad. I can do this. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks as she rushed to the jumpsuit locker.

29

"Say again, Morozova, do not approach, or we will assume hostile intent…"

Piotr listened to the hail from the Captain of the Astra Mater, a man named Cooper, and forced the best English he could manage as he said, "We are not hostile, Astra Mater. We only wish to know condition of spacer woman you come for."

"I am under strict orders not to share anything regarding the case," Cooper replied. "Not until the search for Ms. Lupa has been concluded."

"Search?" That English word was one Piotr and his brother were both well aware of. "She was left with the spacers’ union by our friend! Our friend who has been murdered! Now you tell me you search for her?"

The line was audio-only, so the brothers couldn't see the other man, but they could hear the exasperated sound that came before he resumed speaking. "I'm not sharing anything else. But you can consider this formal confirmation that P&Y is terminating our agreement with you and your people. If you approach any closer, we will assume hostile intent and request assistance from Harr'al authorities."

Piotr felt a desire to scream in rage at the man for being so unhelpful. Pain gnawed at him still over Vasily, and his feeling that he'd caused Vasily's death was growing deeper with this new information.

Pavel saw his brother's mood and took over. "We understand you, Astra Mater. We intend no hostility and are withdrawing. God go with you." With that, he nodded to Semyon.

Semyon Timofovich Kuybyshev lowered his red-bearded face to focus on enacting Pavel's order, cutting the communication line. Of all of the Morozova crew, he was the only one to hint at the distant Viking ancestry that was distilled into the Russian people in the era of the Kievan Rus. Pavel often called him the Varangian, referencing the Varangian Guard of the old Orthodox Roman Empire and showing the younger brother's knowledge of old Earth histories.

"We’ve been fooled," Piotr grumbled. "The Lupa woman wasn't a victim. She works for the League."

"You don't know that," Pavel pointed out.

"Don't I? Vasily is dead, and she is gone. You heard them! They have cut our protection agreement. They would only do so if they believe we attacked the Kensington Star."

"Maybe they…" Pavel shrugged. "We still need more information, brother."

"Then get it," Piotr said. "In the meantime, put us on course for the jump zone so we don't provoke Cooper."

* * *

For three days, the repair work on the Shadow Wolf proceeded at an excellent pace. The addition of an engineer's mate had been an unexpected part of the repair work, but given the financial issues at stake, Samina Khan's admission to the crew was welcome. The material costs alone, not to mention labor, made Henry worry about his bottom line.

Still, there was some work the experienced dockhands of Trinidad were best suited for, so Henry sighed and paid. Now, he watched the result of that payment from his place on the gantry, observing as Khánh's Matrinad repair hand worked on the exterior hull with an expert touch. It seemed the best arrangement: let the dockhands do the work of fixing up the hull with the delicate process of cutting patches of the right size and composition while the crew handled the internal repairs.

Tia walked up to him, her eyes fixed on the Matrinad as well. "It appears the hull repairs are coming along."

"They are," he confirmed. "But we might have to go easy on the hold repairs. We can restore the structure, but the full repairs may have to wait."

She sighed. "Until we have the money we need to finish."

A thought came to Henry. "How's our guest doing?"

"She behaves. Felix has been keeping an eye on her."

"Like I asked." Henry sighed. "I'm not a damned jailer, but right now, I feel like one."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right about keeping her around. She's safest with us at the moment." Tia shook her head and sighed again. "I'm not sure we're safer with her, though. Running for Omega or the Jalm'tar frontier sounds pretty good right now. Or, hell, the Jewel Box."

Henry smirked. "Well, I did promise we'd go out that way if things went south here."

"They're certainly shifted in a southerly direction, you've got to admit."

"The damage to our hull is a good indication of that, I think," Henry remarked sarcastically, suppressing a laugh. "Another day or so, do you think? They know we're here, and it'd be nice to get out ASAP."

"Two at the minimum," Tia replied. She leaned against the gantry as if to study the wounded ship more closely. "Pieter's still replacing the blown-out parts of our Lawrence drive from the double jump."

Henry nodded. The next question was an obvious one. "How's Samina doing?"

"Experienced in the right ways but still unlearning some built-in instincts. Half the time, she forgets she's not a fetch tech anymore. Pieter thinks once she's adjusted to handling the work herself, she'll do great."

"Good to hear. We've needed a good engineer's mate for a while."

Nothing passed between them for several moments. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die out there," Tia finally said.

Henry glanced toward her, wondering about why she was bringing up such a macabre subject. "Death's never pretty." The weight of his voice showed all he knew of the issue.

"I know. I'm not…" Tia shifted her weight and shook her head before facing Henry directly. "I'm not talking about death being pretty. It's horrible, and I've seen more than enough of it. I'm just saying we all have to die. And some ways are better than others. From a personal point of view."

Henry observed the distant look in her gray eyes. "Thinking of the past?"

"Yeah. Something about this reminds me of it. How close I came to a bad end. I could've ended up being worked to death in a prison camp after being degraded and humiliated by the corps on Hestia." Tia crossed her arms as if to suppress a shiver. "Or hung publicly."

Henry nodded. He'd seen some of it himself and understood her sentiment. "Yeah, there are good deaths and bad ones," he agreed. "I get wanting to have a good one alongside the people that matter to you. But if you ask me, the best death's the one where you're old, ready to go, and your family's together at your bedside."

Tia smiled thinly. The smile was not a happy one, though, and he saw a tear form in her eye that told how much the thought of her family hurt. She hadn't seen them in over ten years. Even a GalNet call could have put them in danger of arrest by the Hestian government. "One day, maybe I'll be able to think that could be my end," she said. "But for now, if it comes, it's coming out here."

"And on that note…"

"On that note, I'll finish my rounds for now. See you for a working dinner?"

"Yeah," he said, well aware they had finances to balance. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Pavel was waiting when the call came back from his source on New Cornwall, a government police agent whose son had been rescued from Harr'al slavers by the Morozova. The report he got from the Cornish woman made him scowl. He returned to the bridge, where his brother was still waiting for him.

On the main display was the star TR-715, a K4 star of pale-orange light. Its solar system was mostly empty save for an automated helium-3 refueling station over the sixth planet in the system, which provided the source of that critical element to the Lou Shipping-built station. On Piotr's orders, Semyon had selected the system as a place to loiter.

Piotr immediately turned in his chair to face Pavel. "Well?"

"Inspector Morse has confirmed the news," he said. "The New Cornish authorities believe Lupa works for us and that we’re attempting to frame the League for the disappearances. They've already asked the other systems to intercept our ship if we're spotted and ordered Lupa's arrest."

Piotr snarled. "I knew it," he hissed. "That… bitch. She must have killed Vasily! Or ordered it! So she could escape without being detected!"

"Even if she didn't order it, it's related." Pavel shook his head. "Brother, I want to find her too. This time, we’ll question her more thoroughly. Something greater is going on here, something dangerous."

"Agreed. This sounds like a League plot, brother. Those Christ-hating monsters are behind all of it. Now we have to find out where she is."

"If she left Harron, she would have left through Sektatsh. It would be too much risk to try to travel to another of the enclave cities on Harron." Pavel took his seat and called up system access. "I'm going to connect to the Sektatsh Spaceport and see what ships departed recently."

Piotr waited patiently as Pavel did his search. He examined the ships that had left and details relating to them. It took time and patient examination, but not as much time as he’d feared. "Ah, I think I know now," he said.

"Do you?"

"Vessel Shadow Wolf out of Darien. She arrived carrying cargo from Lusitania on the day Vasily is believed to have been killed and left the same day. Rented a helicar and returned it the same day."

Piotr considered that. "That's not too strange. Who would want to stay on that world for too long? They may have had business in the city."

"But why rent a helicar for a single day just to attend to business? Why go to the expense when public transport would work just as well? A rented helicar would work to quietly slip someone to the ship. And the record shows they were temporarily halted on departure for suspicion of sneaking a slave aboard." Pavel could see from his facial expression that Piotr considered those facts more convincing.

"All right. Something to possibly investigate," said Piotr. "Send to our contacts across the region. We are looking for the Shadow Wolf and wish to know her destination."

"Yes, brother," Pavel replied.

* * *

The working dinner amounted to Tia bringing food from one of the station's eating establishments back to the Shadow Wolf. It was Hestian cuisine, itself a fusion of various Southeast Asian and European influences with a focus on some spice in the flavoring. Henry tried it gingerly at first and noted that the texture of the meat was consistent with vat-grown samples.

Tia's bemused reaction brought a grin to Henry's face after he finished chewing and swallowed down the bite he'd taken, a chunk of roasted vat-meat—pork, perhaps—with a mild spice glaze over it. "You used to give me the stink eye," he pointed out.

"Well, that was back when you had that spoiled Coalition palate," she replied before taking a bite of her meal, a combination of rice and beef with vegetables in a spicy sauce. The rice was station-grown as well.

"I suppose a decade spent out here in neutral space did a lot to expand my horizons"—he chuckled—"without expanding my waistline."

Tia almost choked in her attempt to laugh.

Whatever further humor they might have shared was cut off by the tone coming from Henry's desktop computer. He checked it and noted it was an incoming call over the GalNet system, originating from Lusitania. That world was already taxing his patience, but with a sigh, he answered.

Al-Lahim appeared, looking quite frustrated. "Captain Henry, I received your message, but things here have been hectic. Is everything okay?"

"Our guest is," Henry replied, his tone careful. "We had to put into Trinidad Station for repairs."

"It's not common for any of the Tash'vakal tribes to behave quite like that. I suspect they were paid."

"Your guess is as good as mine." Henry set his hands on the table. "That's not the only reason you called, is it?"

Al-Lahim sighed. "No, it isn't. Your passenger's situation is… complicated now."

"In what way?" Henry noticed Tia was paying rapt attention as well. That was typically wise when an intelligence officer talked about "complications."

"The New Cornish authorities are still running their investigation, but our sources have them suspecting a woman named Karla Lupa of being a pirate agent working for the Tokarevs. I've investigated and found that there are similarities in appearance. I'm afraid mistaken identity might come into play."

The phrasing was understandable. The line was not necessarily a secure one, and al-Lahim wasn't about to admit to Miri's true identity, especially not with what he'd just revealed. Henry played along. "Well, we'll make sure to have her ID well in hand. There won't be any mistaken identity."

"That is advisable."

With that said, Henry decided to delve further into the matter. "So you're telling me that a witness shows up, and she's suddenly the suspect?"

"Yes." Al-Lahim sounded almost weary at that point of agreement. "Unfortunately, New Cornwall's been particularly adamant about staying out of the war. They'd rather assume she was a pirate trying a frameup than consider whether she's telling the truth."

"They're hardly the only planet to do so," Henry pointed out, well aware that half of his crew came from such neutral worlds. "Anyway, that's got nothing to do with us for the moment. I'll inform you when we're coming back in."

"Don't expect an immediate answer. We're having another security threat assessment in the wake of the increasing domestic strife here on Lusitania."

"More problems with the PdDN."

"There've been arrests and mob attacks on the opposition, especially the democratic parties," al-Lahim explained. "Some of them come to us, seeking shelter."

"Which only adds to the fuel for all of those nationalist groups accusing the democrats of being Coalition agents."

"It does, but these are innocent people. It's not easy to turn them away."

"It never is." Seeing Tia starting to eat again, Henry said, "I'll talk to you later. Shadow Wolf out." He let al-Lahim nod before cutting the channel.

"Crap," Tia muttered. "It sounds like Lusitania's becoming a dangerous spot. Should we hasten repairs? If we really push, we could be out by tomorrow. Then we can get this over with and get away before Caetano starts a crackdown or whatever she's going to do."

"No. Everyone got a scare in our escape from the Tash'vakal." Henry started gathering a bite of his cooling meal with his fork and spoon. "And if there's any trouble, we don't want everyone worn thin by repair work. We'll continue working at our established pace and leave in two days."

Tia swallowed one of her last bites and nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me. That leaves the repair bill."

Henry grimaced and nodded. "Yeah, let's get that finalized. Then we'll see how much trouble we're in financially."

30

Kepper arrived at the Sektatsh Spaceport with a light load. Most of his essential gear was already transferred to his ride, sparing him the need for more. All he had with him was a single suitcase of brown leather. He checked his commlink to verify the meeting place, an out-of-the-way terminal of the spaceport near one of the employee entrances. Without a ship coming or going from the dock at the moment, Kepper and his contact had the place to themselves.

The contact was a human man of pale complexion, grizzled in appearance. He was at least ten years older than Kepper by his estimation. Wiry, corded muscle showed on his bared lower arms. "Hey, you're Li's guy?" the man asked in a nearly Cockney British accent.

"Yep." Kepper didn't recognize the man or know his name. Nor did he care to. "My intel?"

"Everything you need on Trinidad Station. Contacts, schematics." The man extended a hand, his skin even paler than normal, and offered a data disc. Kepper eyed the disc closely. "I feel bloody sorry for your mark."

"Huh." Kepper looked at the disc then to the contact's face, grinning widely. "I'd think you'd have better things to feel sorry for."

"Oh?" The man chuckled. "Like what?"

Kepper's grin took an edge. "Yourself." His hands went into motion. One slapped the side of the contact's hand away, knocking the disc to the floor. The other hand pulled his pulse pistol out and leveled it toward the contact's head. The contact stopped moving, his face still full of surprise. "Drop it.”

The small particle pistol in the man's other hand dropped to the ground. Kepper brought his right foot over and kicked it out of reach.

The League contact's confusion became consternation and fear. "What's all this?" he asked in a low, insistent voice.

"I'll admit, you had me going," said Kepper. "Li sounded just desperate enough. But I know how the game's played. I made him look bad to his bosses. Why send me to hunt someone across space when the League's got contacts elsewhere?" He chuckled. "Honestly, he'd have been better off never talking to me again and just sending someone to blow up my rooms. He'd still have failed, but it wouldn't be nearly as insulting."

"Mate, I dunno—"

"You're pale, especially your hand. But that's not a natural paleness," Kepper said. "The light we're in hides it a little, so I wasn't sure until I saw your hand. But it's from something else. I'm guessing the fungicide for jeklan?" He noticed the look in the man's eyes and felt a surge of professional pride. He had this poisoner. "The fungicide is slightly toxic to human beings. It slows the heart and reduces blood flow. Makes you really pale. Terrible stuff, but it's a great preventative if you're coating something with jeklan. Stuff gives people a buzz, but it's the last one a human being would feel before death. Am I right?"

The contact swallowed. "It was nothing personal, mate," he said in a low tone. "Business. Boss tells me to off someone, they get the jeklan, y'know?"

"Pays well?"

"Pay's piss," spat the man. "My family's back on Croydon. I do the right work, External Security'll let 'em emigrate out of the League."

Kepper nodded. Croydon was a former Coalition world that withdrew after the Saurian Wars over the costs of rebuilding Sauria. That hadn't been sufficient protection from the League, which had taken control of the planet in 2550 on the grounds of alleged Coalition use of the Croydon system. He gave the man a bemused look. “You know you're a sucker, then? The League'll never let them go."

Defiant despair showed on the poisoner's face. "Man's gotta hope. I got nothing else."

"Hope's overrated."

With that statement, Kepper lifted his gun and shot the Croydoner square in the middle of the forehead. The pulse blast scorched and blackened the pale skin there on its way through the skull and into the brain, which was flash-fried in the heat of the blast. His would-be killer fell wordlessly to the ground and did not move again.

The grin disappeared from Kepper's face. Fury filled him. Not just at Li's decision to kill him—that was the way of business in his line of work—but at how he’d gone about it. The insult he'd offered by trying to trick him made it clear that he thought Kepper was stupid enough to fall for it.

Before, his desire to kill Li had just been a fancy. Now, it was earned retribution.

Kepper felt a shudder of anticipation at finally getting to drop his defenses and fulfill his urges. Chantavit Li was going to die, and die slowly, and it was going to be fun.

* * *

Being both Trade Minister and Culture Minister meant perks for Vitorino, perks he greatly enjoyed. They included contacts in the business world, the import and export trades so important to integrated interstellar economies like those of the Trifid Region's worlds, while the latter got him invited to all sorts of dinner parties and galas to celebrate the fine arts.

Tonight was a bit of both for him, as he enjoyed the company of the elite of Gamavilla in welcoming the Tal'mayan Director of Cultural Exchange from that species' homeworld and unified government. As aliens went, the Tal'mayan were in the sweet spot of humanoid shape with alien features, given their colorations and slanted ears and the usual facial shapes, plus broadly belonging to the same mammalian kingdom as humanity did.

The same was seen in their art. The school of art currently in vogue on Tal'pera had some aesthetic similarities to the twenty-second-century Romanticists of Sagittarian humanity's first generation, including Vitorino's personal favorite, Miguel Hakkaoui. He enjoyed the shapes and colors of the Tal'mayan artists.

Beside him, the cerulean-skinned Tal'mayan minister, Drol Seja, was standing with his wife, Uwi. Her hair was verdant green, while Drol's was almost pearl white, richer in color than a human's natural white, given that it was not a result of old age and the damages it wrought. "I truly enjoy seeing how our species' aesthetics can match," Drol said. "I hope the people of Lusitania enjoy these pieces as greatly as my people do."

"They will, Minister, I guarantee it," Vitorino promised, "just as they enjoy the njita fruit you so graciously export."

"Well, we can hardly let people believe that sweet smoke is our only product!" The alien guffawed. His voice had a slight inhuman timbre to it, the product of physiological difference in Tal'mayan vocal cords. "We are fortunate that our species have compatible gastronomical sensibilities."

"Very fortunate," Vitorino said, pondering the elegant taste of njita brandy and how well the fruit worked in a number of his favorite dessert dishes. "Did you enjoy the port?"

"Quite so!"

Their conversation continued amiably for a time before Vitorino eased himself away. He noticed Raoul approaching and moved to avoid any further conversation. "Yes?" he asked.

"I thought you should know that Speaker Acosta will be calling the session tomorrow."

"Ah. Good." Vitorino noticed Raoul’s facial expression. "This worries you? It's just a new trade treaty with the League."

"The democratic parties have already protested and are trying to convince some of our people to reject it,” Raoul said. “I don’t doubt they’ll disobey the whip, but with how much Caetano’s been provoking them lately, I’m worried this might push them over the edge.”

“The democratic parties protest everything,” Vitorino scoffed. “But they don’t do violence. They don’t have the stomach for it. They know it’ll just lead to them being rounded up by Caetano’s people.”

Raoul shuddered visibly. Under Caetano, the police and security services were having all restrictions removed, at least when it came to preserving state security and so-called anti-constitutional activities. "I've heard the hardest criminals get treated better in prison than democrats," he said.

"Ah, but criminals are just criminals. Democrats are threats to the Estado Novo," Vitorino remarked sardonically, already hearing Caetano say the same in his head.

Raoul noted the wryness in his voice. "Either way, I sometimes worry about the future of our nation."

"The future will tend to itself, Raoul." Vitorino clapped his man on the back. "Come now. There are lovely young ladies of society here, and your mother wants grandchildren, eh? Let's go meet some of them and get your mind on something other than work."

* * *

In the offices of the Lusitanian Defense Ministry, Caetano sat at her desk, reading quietly from a government-issued digital tablet. The daily reports from the security services and the military were always of high priority to her. Cravalho met her at the door with the secured digital tablet assigned for his use. "Admiral Fayed reports the fleet is ready for any trouble," he said, "although the Beja remains docked for her computer issues."

"So long as the engineers are fixing it," she remarked. "It does us little good to have a capital battleship in the fleet if it is not available. We paid exorbitantly for it, and we must get our money's worth."

"Agreed." Cravalho glanced at his pad. "The year's army call-ups are not matching census estimates."

"Draft dodgers." Caetano eased herself into the seat behind her desk. "Have the recruitment and intake offices coordinate with State Security. Draft dodging is a serious offense against the state, whether from cowardice or anti-constitutional ideology. I want examples made."

"Of course, Minister," he said. "I can coordinate with the Justice Ministry to ensure the sentences are firm."

"We'll also run a new public campaign on the need to respond to draft calls," Caetano continued. She picked up her secured pad from her desk. "Appeal to the patriotism of the population in honoring the draft and refusing aid to draft dodgers." Her eyes didn't meet Cravalho's as she spoke, as she was focused on the reports her pad was downloading from his.

"I'll send the orders out," he assured her. "But I'm sure there will be trouble. The democratic parties—"

"—are irrelevant, and they will be more so when the next elections are held," she finished contemptuously. A small smile came to her face. "Perhaps the people of Zalain will even vote for someone other than that intemperate zealot, Ascaro."

Cravalho flashed a smile in return. "Speaking of, her speech last night had several incendiary remarks that our people flagged as potentially subversive. Director Travada wanted me to give you his assurance that he stands ready to arrest every Assembly member from the democratic parties upon your orders. We can easily charge them with anti-constitutional activity, given their rhetoric."

For a moment, Caetano seemed to consider the thought. Ultimately, she shook her head. "No. Her remarks are little different from her usual in the message, simply stronger in language. To arrest her now would confirm to others the truth of her accusations. That could destabilize our position in the government. For now, we watch and observe."

"If the party faithful take matters into their own hands?"

That won him a glance. Cravalho had a barely perceptible grin on his face, anticipating the idea of having the rank and file attack their opponents again.

When Caetano spoke, it was with her usual control. "Demonstrations are welcome, obviously, to remind the populace that the PdDN is the best choice for their future. And we may be lenient in some cases of excessive zeal. But not all." Her words became harsh. "Such actions directed at government figures and their families, including Assembly members, will not be overlooked," she said sternly. "It would undermine the state."

Cravalho stroked his chin. He wouldn't say out loud that he would relay the message, but he didn't need to. Whether he recognized Caetano's reasoning or not, he would obey. When he spoke up, it was on a different matter. "Speaker Acosta is calling the Cabinet to tomorrow's session for the final reading of the trade treaty Minister al-Idrisi signed with Ambassador Salinas last month."

"I will be there, of course," Caetano said, although she seemed to care little for the news. "Vitorino will undoubtedly be beside himself at yet more opportunities to enrich himself with his office."

Cravalho snorted at the remark. The corruption of the Trade Minister was nearly an open secret in the ministries. After catching himself from laughing more, he continued with another report. "The surveillance of the Faith Outreach Mission is continuing. Inspector Travada is requesting permission for another search. His people identified local Lusitanians suspected of anti-constitutional activity entering the premises."

"For now, they will continue to observe the Reverend Rothbard's mission," Caetano said. "He is to remain unmolested for now."

"Understood."

Caetano listened as Cravalho continued on to other matters, but her mind went to the question of the Reverend and his use to her. I grow impatient, Captain Henry. Your witness may be the key I've been waiting for, and I want her. For the sake of your friend, I hope you are not getting comfortable on Trinidad.

31

The numbers stared Henry in the face and brought a scowl to it. "Three million credits." He sighed.

"The best I could do," Khánh said apologetically. She sat behind her desk with a clear look of sympathy on her face. The desk itself was a plain white plastic board on four gray legs with a holoprojector along one side to display the number that made Henry livid. "The materials’ costs and parts, I couldn't shave off as much as I wanted. And the labor costs are fixed by the dockworker guild."

"I know." He cradled his head in his hands. It wasn't going to bankrupt the ship necessarily, but it left them at risk of bankruptcy if he didn't get paid once they arrived at Lusitania. At least he would collect from Caetano, even if a part of him still balked at working with her over Vitorino or al-Lahim.

With a heavy sigh, Henry took out his digital pad and accessed his account through the station's GalNet connection. Khánh helpfully sent the official payment request to him, and he used the thumbprint and voiceprint authorization, with a typed PIN number, to approve the transaction. He watched his account balance steadily drop.

"Thank you, Jim," Khánh said. She smiled softly. "Just to help out, I cut my labor cost. My personal cost, I mean."

Henry realized Khánh was saying she didn't get paid for the hours of overseeing the critical hull repairs her people had handled or for the several hours she'd spent triple-checking the fusion drive system to ensure they hadn't damaged anything with their intense use of it during the Tash'vakal ambush. Compared to materials costs, it wasn’t much of the total, but he welcomed the gesture. "Thank you," he said, forcing gratitude.

Khánh's smile turned melancholy. "I know I say this every so often, but I'll say it again: you saved Tia's life when you took her into your crew. If you hadn't, she'd have gotten herself killed by now. Or straight-up committed suicide."

"She's tough," Henry replied. "Don't sell her short."

"I don't. But I know her. And being tough doesn't save someone from a crushed spirit." Khánh stood. "Your repairs, as ordered, should be done tonight. Will you be leaving then?"

"Yeah. We've got a run to complete."

"I'll see if anyone's got a safe cargo heading for Lusitania," she said. "Maybe it'll get you a little something extra for the trip. To keep you flying."

"Maybe. Either way, thanks again." Henry gave her a parting smile before walking out of her office.

Leaving Khánh's office took him by a break room for the dockworkers and the path leading to their shower and changing room. Further on, the door swished open and let him into the Docking Arm 3 concourse. It wasn't as bustling as other space stations might have been, since Trinidad was on the border of being a pirate station instead of a legitimate one and didn't get the same level of traffic. But there were still a fair number of examples of humanity and other alien species milling about, going to and from the lifts to the central station. He followed the path away from the lifts and toward the repair dock where the Shadow Wolf was located.

The inside of the Shadow Wolf was looking better than when she'd left. Most of the visible hull breaches were closed, and Khánh's people were working on the last few. The damaged holds were intact again. It was clear the ship had been hurt, but she was at least getting her wounds closed.

Yanik stood just inside the port airlock, his massive form visible as Henry approached the hatch into the ship. His Saurian second mate was observing the repairs carefully. "We're due to finish tomorrow," Henry said. "How's Pieter and the new girl doing?"

"They have finished repairs to the Lawrence drive," Yanik replied. "I am told the sublight drives will be ready by tonight."

"Good." Henry stepped into the airlock. "Interior repairs?"

"Mostly done. We await the completion of the remaining breach repairs to continue our work."

"Good." Henry continued into the vessel while Yanik remained outside. He checked on the galley and rec room before heading to the empty quarters where their guest was located.

Miri sat alone, staring at the wall with a look Henry sometimes saw in his mirror. She quietly turned her head to face him. "Captain."

"Ms. Gaon." Since she was seated on the bed in the room, he took up the desk chair. "We need to talk. There's been a development."

"What kind?"

"New Cornish authorities want Karla Lupa arrested. Apparently, she's a pirate agent under an assumed name."

Surprise flashed across her face. Her expression turned thoughtful a moment later. She was considering the ramifications. "They're discrediting me," she finally said, "because they don't like my testimony. Patricia Odon wouldn't need much to show I'm a legend. From there, it's easy to insist I'm a pirate agent and not a spacer looking for a new start."

"Apparently so," Henry said. "It's why I figure Caetano and maybe Vitorino still want to talk to you. They don't find the case convincing, while al-Lahim just wants to ensure nobody thinks you're Karla Lupa."

"Once I'm in his care, he'll put me in a safehouse and get me a ship back to Canaan or New Israel," she said. "The CIS doesn't want me to fall into League hands any more than I do."

"You're okay with going home?"

She shrugged. "The danger's the same in either place. There are League agents back home, too, after all."

"But you're less likely to get taken back by them," Henry pointed out. "Honestly, that's what's confused me the most about you, Miri. Why'd you bother coming out to neutral space? The League could grab you out here. Back home, the best they might manage is an assassination."

"Are you confused by this? Really?" Miri stared at him. "Your ship could easily have made its way, working in Coalition space. You're still a Coalition citizen, after all. Instead, you came to neutral space, where half of the planets see our people as threats to their independence. As far as they're concerned, we're moralistic busybodies and religious zealots little better than the League."

"I'm not a heroic special agent who caused the League one of its most severe defeats, apparently," he replied. "I'm the disgraced commander who got people killed while testing a new engine. It's not as easy for me to find work in Coalition space as you think."

"I suppose not. But that's not why you left, is it?"

Their eyes met. Henry could see the calculation in hers. Miri Gaon, the expert infiltrator, was gauging him. Testing him for responses, for emotional weaknesses she could utilize.

He didn't like that, as much as he understood it. "I had my reasons," he said.

"As did I," she replied. "Among other things, a moving target is harder to hit." A wry look came over her face. "HaShem has now reminded me that a moving target can blunder into the hands of her hunter without either knowing it."

"They say God works in mysterious ways."

"You say that with a tone of a man who doesn't believe in God."

Henry chuckled. "You might say I've become a bit agnostic. I asked for God's help, and I didn't get a response. So either there's no God, or He's not listening or otherwise doesn't care. I admit I tend toward thinking the latter."

"Why?"

"You have to ask?" Henry feigned bemusement. "Look at the state of our species. Why would God want anything to do with us while we kill and torture each other over ideology? I mean, the League's not some spawn of Satan. It's born of human arrogance and conceit, and the Coalition's got a bad side that's got a big stink. And the neutral worlds aren't any better. Crime and corruption and oppression… it's all out here." He sighed. "Vidia thinks I'm just carrying a spiritual wound, and when it heals, I'll rediscover my faith, but honestly, I've seen too much to have any delusions about a divine plan being carried out."

Miri nodded in agreement. "I understand you," she said. "I assume you were Christian?"

"Yes. Methodist."

"As a Jew, I was raised Orthodox," Miri said. "For a time, I became an atheist after my successful 'socialization,' to keep my cover."

Henry nodded. "We hear stories about the camps. People being worked to death as slave labor, executed for being believers."

"In some cases, yes," Miri said, trying not to think of Christopher and Annette. "The slave labor isn't just for the labor. It's… part of the method. They believe we need to learn to work as members of Society. To not expect an individual reward for individual effort, but to work solely for the joy of working for the good of all."

"Oskar and Brigitte have their own stories about being raised in that system," Henry said. "Oskar makes Earth sound like some socialist paradise. People get whatever they want or need regardless of the work they do. Despite everything, sometimes I think he misses it."

"It is. Earth and Mars get the first pick of resources in the League. And Earth itself mostly exists to support the League government. The planetary economy outside of government operation is mostly things like state-protected cottage industries for cultural value. Mars is… well, these days, its importance as a founding component of the League of Sol is vestigial, mostly, but it's still the site of their most advanced military-research bureau."

"They taught you history while you were undercover?"

"A sanitized version," Miri said. "I learned the more unofficial version as part of my mission."

"And after you were pulled out? Still an atheist?"

"No. I believe in HaShem." Miri shook her head. "I don't think I'm worthy of being one of his children anymore. The things I did in his name, in the name of the Coalition, they were…" She swallowed. "There's innocent blood on my hands and my soul, Captain Henry. How else should I feel?"

Henry shook his head. "I don't know. I—" He stopped. "I can't talk about it."

"It’s painful, isn't it?"

"It is. But not the only reason I can't talk about it."

He could see Miri considering his wording before understanding came. "Then I won't pry. A gesture from one wounded soul to another."

"Thank you.” There was nothing else he thought it right to say.

* * *

Despite Linh's efforts, there was no load going to Lusitania, so it was with empty holds that the Shadow Wolf pulled away from Trinidad Station. Cera did the piloting, as usual, with Henry, Tia, and Yanik at their stations on the bridge.

Standing with them at her own request, Samina Khan watched her home for the past few years gradually pull away on the liquid crystal display. She wore a gray engineer's jumpsuit with Shadow Wolf on the back in black lettering. The jumpsuit was a size too big for her and quite baggy.

But she paid it no mind. Her heart beat with excitement and fear and anxiety and worry and happiness. She couldn't decide how she should feel about leaving Uncle Ali behind, about being on her own without her family for the first time in her life. She wanted to cheer at the freedom and cry at the feeling of loss. Tears formed in her eyes from the tension.

Henry's hand came up and touched her shoulder. "I've been there," he said. "I felt the same way when the shuttle taking me to Halsey Station left Tylerville."

"I don't know how to feel," Samina stammered. "I—"

"I didn't either."

"It shows you are on your path, laid out by divine will," Yanik said in his usual low voice. "Divine will is always frightening and gratifying."

"Inshallah," she breathed with a little uncertainty.

Yanik nodded. Samina was surprised he understood. Then her thoughts looped back to the feelings inside. She said nothing more as Trinidad Station slowly shrank on the viewer until it was a speck.

"You've got your first in-flight engine-room watch in six hours," Tia reminded her. "You should see about rack time."

"Yeah. Rack time." Samina felt goose bumps at that prospect. A watch in the engine room by herself, on a ship in flight was a lot of responsibility. Even if Brigitte was also going to be around to help, she felt her stomach twist with nervousness at the thought. Her legs went a little rubbery as she turned to the exit door. "I'll be there, Miss Nguyen," Samina promised.

She left the bridge. Walking down the corridor to her quarters, her feelings continued to shift until one stood out amongst them: determination. She had to do it correctly. For Uncle Ali, for Chief Khánh, and her new crew. She had to be the best engineer's mate she could be.

"Allah, help me," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

The Kensington Star loomed ahead through the shuttle cockpit viewer. Hartford looked it over with quiet satisfaction. While it retained the boxy shape he'd seen on its capture, the week since its arrival at Pluto Base had wrought the desired changes to the ship. Particle cannons were bolted and fitted onto its boxy shape, giving it a definite warlike cast. A battery of captured Coalition neutron cannons were arrayed below the chin of the ship.

Above the ship's bow, the emitter array for their new weapon was still being assembled, but it was nearly ready.

Altogether, the refitted Kensington Star had the firepower to harm cruisers and the deflectors to resist them, although its hull was still a weak point. Armored plates had been rigged over vital areas, but once the ship's deflectors were down, it would have difficulty surviving.

Not that battle was its primary purpose, although if everything went according to plan, it would see combat eventually.

An eager young officer—a commander—greeted Hartford and Aristide upon their landing on the ship's shuttle bay. "Commander Ivan Neworth, sir," he said in a chipper North American accent. "We've nearly completed the refit, sir. There's a few final pieces to install on the disabler array. When we're done, she's ready for action."

"Well done, Commander," Hartford said. "You and your crews have fulfilled their duty well."

"Thank you, sir. All did their part for Society. We had not a single incident of individual failing."

"I’ll see to it your crew will be commended."

With the exchange done, Hartford was led on a tour of the ship. For all the work done outside, internally, it was little changed—only where necessary. The crew went about their business with the kind of Social spirit he approved of in personnel. Each had been handpicked from the best in the League of Sol fleet. Most were veterans of the war with the Coalition and eager to strike the decisive blow to break the zealots.

They were partway through the inspection when Aristide stopped following. She held a hand to her ear, telling Hartford she was getting a report from Pluto Base. "Very well," she said. "I will inform him at once."

By the time she turned her attention entirely to Hartford and Commander Neworth, Hartford was already asking, "Inform me of what?"

"An informant on Trinidad Station transmitted a report to our man on New Kerala," she said. "The Shadow Wolf has departed for Lusitania."

"Is the fleet ready?"

She nodded. "It is dispersed along the route, and we have probes spread around several systems. Additionally, League vessels in the area, as well as those we have contacts with, are all on the lookout, should they take a circuitous route."

"And if they go by interstellar space?"

Aristide smiled. Hartford wasn't sure he liked the look of it. "Given their behavior, I considered that possibility. Captain Zervakos and his squadron have dispersed themselves at central points with a probe net employed. It is quite a use of resources, sir, but I believe we can catch them."

Hartford narrowed his eyes slightly. Aristide's wording wasn't lost on him. She saw this as a waste of resources. She didn't see the danger that Miri Gaon would pose to their operation, not as he did. She was thinking of things in the way one of the bloodless Social Resource Distribution Bureau officials back on Earth would have, not realizing the effect on morale someone like Gaon could have if she gave her testimony to the right people. "It will be worth it," he quietly assured her. "And it will even give us another benefit."

"Oh?"

"Another ship, already conveniently armed for our purposes," Hartford pointed out. And with that point made, he nodded to Neworth, prompting the younger officer to continue their tour.

* * *

Pavel found Piotr as he was leaving the ship's chapel on the Morozova's habitation deck, where Father Dmitri was currently hearing confession. "Piotr, I've found them!"

"Where?" Piotr demanded, his full attention directed to his brother.

"They put in several days ago to Trinidad Station. Battle damage from an attack by the Tash'vakal."

"Devil's Lizards," Piotr grumbled. They were another scourge of the spaceways, vicious reptilians who ate other species and even each other. "Are they still there?"

"They were scheduled to depart today," answered Pavel. "No destination filed, but during their time on the station, they received several calls from Lusitania."

"Their cargo to Harron came from Lusitania," Piotr recalled. "Perhaps their employer is there."

"The League External Security Office maintains a major agent in Gamavilla," Pavel said. "Chantavit Li."

"Li," Piotr spat. "He would be the kind of man to arrange this slander." He gave his brother a fierce look. "They must be returning her to him. We must catch them!"

"I've given Semyon course information. It will be close, brother, but with God's help, perhaps we can catch them before their last jump."

"God stands with those seeking justice," Piotr assured him. "Make sure the word is spread. We must be ready for action when the time comes!"

32

Another bright day came for the people of Gamavilla. It was the kind of day anyone would want to remember—clear, sunny skies, pleasantly warm. Children of the capital's barrios loved such conditions for playing outside, while lovers embraced in the parks.

After finishing her morning routines, Cristina Caetano stood on the balcony of her third-floor apartment home. While other ministers might dwell in beautiful homes bought in the city limits, she contented herself with a secured apartment rented in the government district. From three stories up, she could make out the best buildings in the heart of the city, including the parliament building and the presidential mansion. With a turn of her head, the grand baroque architecture of National University was visible. Turning her head the other way showed the Gamavilla Museum of History and Art and the magnificent spire of St. Michael's Cathedral, while a little farther in the distance, the al-Tawriq Mosque's minarets spoke of architecture that would have won the approval of the Almohads.

The view was special. It was why she'd insisted upon that apartment. It reminded her of the proud past of Lusitania, the collective effort of the Portuguese, Moroccan, Basque, and Galician peoples who’d left behind the lands and bones of their forebearers to save the memory and spirit of their nations.

Today, they would be ratifying a new treaty with the people who chased their ancestors off Earth. It was a sort of cosmic joke. Members of her party were ambivalent about the whole thing, but the other lead government parties, the Nationalist-Republicans and National Liberals, were quite insistent on it. As she could not yet act on Karla Lupa's statements about the League being responsible for the ship disappearances, she and the PdDN would go along with it. It was a necessary evil to keep their governing coalition intact.

There was noise behind Caetano, the dull thud of something hitting the ground. She turned to find that the housemaid hired by the owner of the building had accidentally knocked a table lamp off her dresser. The young woman, with bronze coloring a shade darker than Caetano's and a pretty round face, was already stooping to pick it up under the stern gaze of Caetano's armed bodyguards. Nervousness was apparent in her light-brown eyes as she set the lamp back carefully, handling it with even more care than the auto-firing pulse guns being quietly leveled her way by Caetano's ever-watchful bodyguards. "Sorry, Minister," she said softly. Her Portuguese had a Galician accent.

"Beatriz, isn't it?" Caetano asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Beatriz glanced around quickly. The bodyguards were not lowering their guard, but their weapons were starting to dip a little. "I'm very sorry."

Caetano could see the young woman was upset, and not just at her mistake. "You are usually quite careful," Caetano observed. "Is something the matter?"

Beatriz sucked in a breath. For a moment, she seemed to reluctant to do anything, and her body shook. Caetano could see when the tension in Beatriz eased. She'd made her decision. "My brother Julio," she said. "He's… he's a member of the League for Democratic Unity. He's protesting today."

"Ah. You worry for his safety." Caetano found the admission interesting. "Do you share his political beliefs?"

"I do not follow politics. I am too busy pursuing my degree in metallurgy at National University," Beatriz admitted.

Caetano found that fact intriguing. She hadn’t known her maid was a university student.

"I… I know you hate them, but he's a good man. He's not a traitor. He wants our people to have more freedoms."

Caetano's face betrayed a hint of sadness. "I know what it is like to have someone you love, to have family who risk themselves for their convictions," she said quietly to the younger woman. "Rest assured, Beatriz, that unless the situation requires it, I will not raise a hand against Julio or those with his convictions."

Beatriz’s eyebrows shot up. "You… you won't?"

"No. I believe he and his people are wrong," Caetano began. "Our nation requires us to set our freedoms aside to protect the nation, the entire planet, from the war. And I can tell you that some use his party as a cover to promote foreign interests that would not match ours. But I do not hate them all. I consider them misguided. And so long as the state is not threatened by their actions, I will not have them harmed."

"But your party…"

Caetano laughed. "My party is not a hive mind with me as the queen bee. Some of my people allow their patriotism to get the better of them. I rein them in when possible. But it is not always possible. Today, I suspect they will counter-protest as they always do, and my police are ready to intercede to protect the lives of Lusitanian citizens."

Beatriz nodded at that. She was still clearly surprised. "Thank you, Minister," she finally managed.

"You are quite welcome, Beatriz. I hope I have set your mind at ease. My room could use a little extra dusting today." Caetano grinned at her. "I wish you the best in your studies on metallurgy."

That resulted in another round of thanks before Caetano departed the room, her bodyguards following. As they exited the apartment proper, one said, "That was nice of you, Minister. A shame her brother's a traitor."

"The tricky thing about treason is that sometimes the traitor does not know he is one until it is too late," she replied. "We are due at Parliament, gentlemen. Lead on."

* * *

Given what he’d accumulated from his time in public service and private industry, Vitorino had the wealth to live in greater splendor than Caetano's modest apartment in the government district. His home was in the upper-crust Lake Verde District, a two-level mansion of average size bought at a discount from the prior owner, an import-and-export company owner expressing gratitude for Vitorino's assistance. His bedroom, the master bedroom, was on the second floor, a finely carpeted and furnished chamber that by itself was the size of a barrio apartment for a family of four. The balcony there provided a view of the parliament building and other sites from a removed distance—visible but part of the general surroundings.

Vitorino considered that view while eating a morning breakfast cooked by his professional kitchen staff. After seeing to some last-minute correspondence and dressing in his best suit, he was met by Raoul for the ride to parliament. "No surprises?" he asked.

"None," Raoul promised.

"Good, good." Vitorino grinned and sat back.

On their way, Vitorino noted that the city seemed tense. There were political gatherings ready to become protests and counterprotests scattered around the city. The Gamavilla police force was out to deal with it, aided by the RSS and the National Police. Anyone foolish enough to start a violent demonstration would find themselves in the city's jails in short order.

They arrived and came in through the cabinet's special entrance. Security was less intrusive if still quite thorough, given the intensity of the scans they were subject to in order to ensure they were clear of anything from planted bombs to listening devices. Once they were inside, Vitorino headed straight for the assembly chamber.

The room was a modern take on the parliamentary assembly rooms seen in many countries. The six hundred and twenty members of the Assembly itself were seated in a half circle of multiple tiers in the southern half of the chamber, with galleries raised above their seats for visitors. The pit was for whoever took the floor to address the Speaker of the Assembly, who enjoyed the highest position on the north side of the room. The President of Lusitania, if in attendance, sat beside the Speaker, bound by Lusitanian law and custom to not speak unless requested to by the Assembly. But Vargas was not there today. The Prime Minister likewise had a seat beside the Speaker but typically only spoke when asked or permitted by the Assembly.

Below the Speaker's podium and above the pit, a line of desks and attendant chairs was set for the attending members of the cabinet. Vitorino found his seat near the middle. By circumstance, this put him beside Caetano, with Minister al-Idrisi beside her. On Vitorino's other side was the Finance Minister, a fellow National-Republican named Rosalía Ferreiro.

With most of the seats filled, the Speaker of the Assembly took his podium, signaling to all the session was due to begin. Saturnino Acosta was the oldest leading member of the Nationalist-Republicans and a former Prime Minister himself. With the rest of the cabinet, Vitorino swiveled in his chair and looked up at the older man as he called the session to order.

It was not easy. There was real malice in the Assembly, even over something as relatively minor as a trade agreement. The democratic parties saw the League as an unconscionable threat to the dignity and freedom of humanity, and the Socialists—the second-largest party in the Assembly—despised them as a twisted and totalitarian corruption of their ideology. The government parties, on the other hand, were much like Vitorino in their thinking—Lusitania's economy was enriched by foreign trade, and that meant getting as many trade partners as possible. Since the Coalition placed export controls on strategic goods and resources necessary for their war efforts as well as on luxury and consumer goods containing technology with potential military applications, the League was a source for the same that couldn't be ignored.

With effort, Acosta took control of the session. At his bidding, the clerk confirmed the attendance roll and read the treaty. It was not the stuff of drama, especially since Vitorino felt that the Basque clerk's Portuguese accent was atrocious.

Once the reading was over, the first representative to get the Speaker's attention called for Vitorino, as Trade Minister, to answer questions. This request was affirmed by a vote, and Vitorino, with grace, stood from his seat, leaving Raoul behind to keep everything in order while he rounded the cabinet desk and descended into the pit of the chamber. He stood at a podium facing the assembly and invited the questions with a confident grin.

Some he considered reasonable. Most he thought were inane or petty. A few were even ridiculous. Nevertheless, he kept his smile on as they came. When it looked like they were done, Vitorino turned to the Speaker and asked, "May I have the floor, Mister Speaker? I wish to make a statement."

"The Assembly recognizes Minister Vitorino," Acosta remarked with solemnity.

"I thank the Assembly for its patience and time. I will not occupy more of it," Vitorino said. "I only wish to impress upon you the value and need of this agreement. The galaxy is dangerous these days, and trade is getting more difficult. If we wish to continue thriving, we need to work with other worlds, other systems, even governments like the League. Whatever we think of their domestic politics—and I have my own qualms about them—they are not going to disappear because we wish it. They're a fact of life, and we should be willing to extend the hand of friendship to them." His voice carried through the assembly, aided by both the microphone and the carefully designed acoustics of the chamber. He was gratified to see that many were considering his words. It was clear that he hoped to convince all of them to side with the new treaty.

He took a quick swig of water to wet his throat then glanced back toward his digital reader to continue his statement.

That was when the bombs went off.

33

The Shadow Wolf emerged from the third wormhole it'd generated since leaving Trinidad Station. It arrived in an uninhabited system, TR-778, with an A2 star. Piper had the watch with Brigitte and Felix. She looked over the holotank display of the course she'd plotted and noted with satisfaction that the next jump would bring them to Lusitania and relative safety.

She remembered herself and directed a look to the helm. "Well done, Brig," she said. "That was a textbook wormhole entry."

"Thanks, Piper," Brigitte replied, her tone chipper. She didn't fly the ship often, given that the usual piloting rotation was Cera, Felix, Piper, and Vidia in fourth. The chance was both daunting and a little fun. "Think I'll work into the rotation?"

Piper smiled at that. "We'll see. We're pretty well covered on the helm, after all."

"Always good to have options," Felix added from the operations seat, "just in case of emergencies."

"Speaking of the possibility…" Piper looked back to the holotank. "Anything we should be worried about?"

"Got a contact a few hours out," Felix said. "They'll cross our path in two hours at current course and speed. It looks like a passenger liner. Probably running the New Kerala-Lusitania route." Felix looked at Piper, clearly concerned. "Although given the circumstances, we can't be too careful."

"We'll adjust course slightly. But not too much. Otherwise, we may scare them." Piper glanced at the holotank and ran the calculations through her mind for a moment. "Brigitte, alter heading by zero-zero-zero mark positive zero-zero-one." It was only a one-degree course change, but for Brigitte's education, Piper used the full term.

"One degree angle up. Right." Brigitte did so.

"At this distance and these speeds, that'll keep them a safe distance, and it'll look like we're just being courteous," Piper reasoned aloud.

"Works for me," said Felix.

They went silent for some time, each going over their thoughts while attending to the duties of their respective stations. The minutes became an hour. As they approached an hour and a half, Piper glanced to the holotank, which was showing the incoming contact. Something about the range didn't sit right with her. She checked, and it looked like the ship wasn't quite going to pass by but was closer than she'd intended.

Her first impulse was to assume she'd just miscalculated slightly. Her first full thought didn't dismiss that idea so much as consider what it meant if she hadn't. Perhaps the incoming liner had also altered course. That made her wonder why. Changing position in-system between jumps was common in these systems, if only to reduce the risk of being motionless in a pirate ambush, but she couldn't think of why the liner would reduce the distance between them.

"Felix, what do you make of this?" she asked.

Felix looked up from his short-range sensors, more concerned with sudden arriving wormholes, and checked the holotank. "They're a bit closer than they ought to be," he said. "What's up with that?"

"I don't know. Think I should raise them and ask if anything's wrong?"

"If they're looking for us, it'd just give away they've found us," Felix said. "Let's see how interested they are."

"Right. Brigitte, adjust course, three-five-seven mark three-five-nine."

"Right." Brigitte put her hands on the control wheel, opting for manual course correction over inputting it in to the thruster systems. The turn and push of the wheel shifted the Shadow Wolf's course three degrees to port and one downward on the bow. "Course changed."

"Time to jump?" Piper asked, even though she knew the answer: at least three more hours, given the delicate nature of their drives since the double-jump into Trinidad.

"Pieter's counter shows two hundred minutes," Brigitte said.

"Right." Piper checked the course and speed of both ships. As things stood, the liner would come closest to them in thirty-three minutes at its current course and speed, being just outside of the engagement range of the plasma cannons. Close enough for missiles, but at that range, our auto-turrets can shoot them down. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid," she admitted to the others.

"It's not paranoia if you know someone's out to get you," Felix pointed out.

"Right."

Time continued, and the tracks of the ships didn't change. Piper calculated the moment to being near each other over and over, with the time falling below half an hour to a quarter of one. There was no sign of a further course alteration by the other ship.

"Power spike," Felix said, his voice tight and alert.

"They're increasing speed?" Piper's heart went from solid, strong pounding to a more frenetic pace.

"Yes." Felix was intent on his instruments. "Acceleration profile is picking up and… wormhole forming. They're jumping."

Just like that, the tension left the bridge. They were alone in the star system again. Piper let out a breath and urged her heart to slow to a more normal rate. "This sucks," she said.

"Like being back on a war patrol." Felix turned to her and grinned. "I felt like I was back in my days as a TAO on the Epaminondas."

His board beeped.

A chill spread through Piper as Felix's head snapped back around. "Another wormhole signature," he said. "Two hundred thousand kilometers."

That was somewhat close, almost within engagement range, but not "on top of them" close. Piper tapped a button on the command chair that would automatically trigger the liquid crystal display built into the forward wall of the bridge, directing it to show the magnified camera feed from that direction.

The swirling wormhole was still open, and a ship emerged. It was a liner like the other, painted green and blue from the livery of a liner company. Piper identified it tentatively as a Holden-Nagata model like the Shadow Wolf, a larger Mark V passenger liner.

After a few seconds, a warning flagged in her mind. The profile wasn't quite right. The surface wasn't as smooth as the model was meant to have. The profile was lumpy, ugly, as if things had been bolted to the hull. On the bow, a long two-pronged device that made her think of the jaws of an antlion was starting to point their way.

Piper's eyes widened. "Evasive action! Brigitte, evasive…"

Cerulean lightning crackled from the prongs and crossed the distance. The lightning seemed to fill the screen, lighting up the bridge.

Then it was gone, and the three were plunged into blackness.

* * *

On the bridge of the repurposed Hathaway Clipper, Commander An Rong Zhung watched intently as the electromagnetic pulse rippled over the hauler on the converted liner's internal screen. It crackled like lightning as it traveled the length of the ship. The running lights went out, and at the end, the engines on the target vessel died as well.

At a station beside her, Lieutenant Hakao Saratov looked up. "Target vessel disabled, Commander," he said, his English accented with a hint of an accent from the Russo-Japanese colony world of Toyohara.

"Excellent work," she said mostly to the ship's astrogator and helmsman, who'd used the incoming data from the probe they'd left in-system to jump into firing range of the EMP cannon. "Bring us into range. Ready the grapplers."

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

Another officer, European in appearance and with a Scandinavian accent, spoke up from beside her. "The Marines are ready to go over at your command, Commander."

"When we're in range," she replied. A small smile came to her face. "No need to waste fuel when they can't run."

* * *

Henry woke to banging on his door. The first sign that something was wrong came when the light didn't come on at his command. The second sign was that he was lying on nothingness. He was half a meter above his bed, in fact, showing that the gravity was down. He immediately reached down and grabbed the surface of the bed, gently pulling to bring himself back into contact with it.

In the dark, he scrambled instinctively for two things, his Danfield-Colt pistol and his commlink, which proved his only source of light. Zero-G training kicked in, and he used a basic kick-off to push himself to his door, where a grip on the side allowed him to prevent himself from floating away. The door didn't respond to his pressing the open key beside it, telling him the ship was suffering a severe power loss. He reached for the automatic release on the door's privacy lock, essentially turning it into a sliding door that a moment's effort moved out of the way. As he'd expected and dreaded, the main corridor of the ship was pitch-black as well.

A light shined in his face. He turned to it and saw Felix's face, barely visible at the edge of the light. "It's bad, Jim," he said. Henry could see Felix was gripping the bar for zero-G use along the upper wall of the corridor.

"What happened?"

"A ship jumped two hundred thousand kilometers out. Before we could do anything, it fired some type of EMP gun. The whole ship went dark." Felix's voice was deceptively calm. He knew full well the stakes they were facing.

"That's what the League did to the Kensington Star," Henry said. "Dammit. Do we know what's going on in engineering?"

"Brigitte's heading there now," Felix said. "Piper's getting her gun, and she'll send Cera back to the bridge." He took Henry's hand and pressed a flashlight into it. "I'm doing flashlight and softsuit patrol."

"Keep it up. Get everyone armed too." Even as he spoke, Henry didn't see what it mattered. Without internal comms, the League could blow its way into any of the airlocks or even breach through the hull, and they wouldn't know where until they heard the blast. Holding the ship against League Marines would be the fight of their lives in ordinary circumstances. Doing it with no communication across the ship was a hopeless cause.

No. Don't let the fear take you, Henry admonished himself even as he made his way to his office. Make them earn it. The layout there was so familiar to him that he didn't need the flashlight to get the family rifle from the wall. He checked it and was relieved to see that the EMP, whatever it was, hadn't disabled the rifle. The same was true for his pistol, which he slipped into the holster on his hip, thankful that he'd lain down dressed and ready.

Once back in the corridor, he nearly bumped into Cera as she glided by him. She squinted as the beam of his flashlight played over her face. "Ah, Cap'n, please don't blind me. I'm awake, for Christ's sake."

"Sorry." He lowered it. "Didn't see you coming."

"Aye, that's the problem, isn't it?" With her lilt going full force, "isn't it" sounded like "innit." "If Pieter an' th' new girl can get power back, I'll be ready t' burn everythin' we've got."

"Good." He pulled himself to the side and let her head to the bridge. With flashlight in hand, he journeyed down the hall. Moving through zero-G was always tricky. It was something one had to train for, adapt to. Henry mused that the earliest generations of space-going humans would have laughed at him over needing to deliberately think through the movements they could do in their sleep.

The next figure to cross his flashlight beam was Miri as she pulled herself from her quarters. "It's them," she said.

"Yeah."

Miri nodded. "I'd offer myself, but… they'll take all of you anyway. They probably have a camp ready."

"We're not going," Henry said, his tone grim.

"Right." She nodded. "Better to die fighting. Although I'm going to die anyway."

Henry almost told her that might not happen, but he needed to get to engineering. He heard Miri fall in behind him for the rest of the trip. Inside engineering, only a couple of light beams were visible, both at a supply locker. "Pieter? Samina?"

"We're here," Samina replied. Henry heard a familiar shakiness in her voice and realized she had it coming from both directions—it was her first time facing such a crisis as a full crew member of any ship, and she'd seen her family's ship destroyed by pirates as a younger girl. "Just… just trying to figure out what happened."

"It's a weapon," Miri said from behind Henry. "They used it on the Kensington Star. We lost all systems. They only got the lights working again after they took our ship."

"It was an EMP burst. It overloaded all of our active electronics, blew some of the fuses." Pieter's accent was thickening again, his usual sign of stress. "I've got replacements for vital systems, but we'll need to land."

"We've got what's probably a League-held ship two hundred thousand klicks away," Henry said. "How long until we've got thrust and the Lawrence drive up?"

"Shit," Pieter said, "the Lawrence drive will take half an hour to get going, and that's after I spend an hour getting the fuses replaced and the fusion cores going again."

"We could bring the emergency batteries online," Samina suggested.

"It's not going to do any good with the fuses burnt out from the EMP," Pieter said.

Henry was already considering how much time they had left. Two hundred thousand kilometers was not a lot of space to cover when one had a modern sublight drive. Even if the League ship wasn't burning hard to conserve fuel, the Shadow Wolf didn't have long before they were taken. "We need power back. We need to get moving."

"I bloody know that!" Pieter shouted, frustration ringing in every syllable, particularly the drawn out "oo" in bloody. "But I've got to visually inspect—"

"Wait!" Samina's eyes widened. "Mister Hertzog, what about the fusion drive?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "What about it…" His eyes widened. "Oh! Yes!"

Henry felt a brief surge of hope at the looks on their faces. "What about the fusion drive?"

"She was shut down when the EMP hit!" Pieter exclaimed. "There shouldn't be any damage, not at all! Just need to fire her up, and she'll get us electricity and thrust!"

"Enough to jump?" Miri asked.

"It may take a while for the drive to charge the Lawrence drive to full power," Samina said. "But it should give us time to get the main systems back online. It'll even give us lights and maybe gravity!"

"Tricky thing is I still need to replace a couple of fuses and modify the systems to accept power from the fusion-drive reactor," Pieter said. "Brigitte can handle fitting the new power cords, but I've got to do the fuses and run the line." He looked at Samina. "You've worked the drive system before, right?"

"I helped with some of the installations, yes," Samina replied.

"Good!" Pieter scrambled across the dark engineering bay with little heed to the conditions. Moments later, the sound of metal hammering metal came from that direction, immediately joined by a loud curse in Afrikaans, all while Pieter's flashlight bobbed around. They followed more cautiously while he opened a storage locker and pulled out a long yellow cylinder with a contact end. "Here, a portable battery. It should be enough to power the deuterium and helium-3 tanks."

Samina nodded. "The reactor has the start-up emergency battery, right?"

"Of course it does," Pieter scoffed. "Chief Khánh's no fool."

"I just wanted to make sure!" Samina adjusted her jumpsuit and fitted the flashlight to a loop on her shoulder. Ordinarily, the battery would have been a heavy burden for her, but in zero-G, it was as light as a feather.

"You! Miri or whatever your name is!" Pieter's flashlight focused on Miri. "You're a spacer now, right?"

"I am," she confirmed.

"Then get over here and help me," he said. "Or do you want the League to throw you out an airlock?"

Miri smiled wanly at that before nodding in acknowledgment. "I do not. I'm at your disposal, Engineer Hartzog."

Henry left Pieter and Miri to the job in engineering so he could follow Samina. She knew her way around the ship well enough that she quickly found the stairs leading to the lower deck. He followed and marveled at her speed in zero-G. It occurred to him that her work on Trinidad Station undoubtedly included repairs in the zero-G bays of the station's arms.

Yanik was already downstairs but said nothing as Samina floated past, already huffing with exertion from her rapid maneuvering. "An emergency battery," he noted. The Saurian’s plasma gun, which was more of a heavy assault weapon by human standards, was in his arms, and his tail was hooked around the nearest bar. "There is a plan?"

"There is. Let's hope we have time to complete it."

"A little help?" Samina called.

The two men followed her voice to the hatch for the port stern hold. Samina was straining to open the door. "I already hit the emergency release, but there's something wrong," she said, her fingers trying to find purchase.

"Wouldn't be the first time one of those things broke down," noted Henry. He and Yanik each took a side of the sliding door and pulled. It finally started to separate.

A whistle filled the air. Samina yelped and pulled away from the door. "Vacuum!" she shouted. "There's vacuum in there!"

Henry nodded at that. "It's intended. But with life support not working, the atmosphere in the rest of the ship should fill it." He had to speak louder to get over the growing whistle.

Seconds passed. The whistle didn't go away.

"This seems wrong, Captain," Yanik remarked. "The vacuum should already be weakening."

Yanik's point was a good one. They could have missed damage back on Trinidad. If the stern holds were exposed to space, they couldn't get the fusion engine going in time.

A fierce look crossed Samina's face. She set the battery down. "I'll be right back," she said before she kicked off the door and headed in another direction.

Henry nodded. As she ran off, he glanced at Yanik. "Pretty enthusiastic, isn't she?"

"I would be concerned if she were not, given our predicament," Yanik replied.

* * *

The brave face Samina used when leaving Henry and Yanik vanished quickly. Fear seeped in to replace any bravado she'd felt. It was almost as if God was mocking her for leaving Trinidad Station by threatening to throw her into the clutches of the people who’d stolen the homeworld she barely remembered. The deep shadows of the powerless ship around her reinforced that terrible feeling by the way it struck at the most primordial fears in human instinct. Despite everything, a part of her felt like a monster was going to jump out of the dark at any moment.

Take care of them. Spacers look after their own. The words of Chief Khánh and her Uncle Ali inspired her to fight off that fear. Her new crew needed her to act quickly.

Samina's mind dwelled on her task. She was used to moving through spaceships, even in zero-G, and she'd been in a Holden-Nagata model ship before. Whatever changes between various models and sizes, the company tended to have a standard practice for certain things, such as the locations of power output jackets, ladders, stairways, how the hatches worked, and of course, the vacuum-suit lockers.

Thanks to the tours of the ship she'd taken between repair shifts, Samina knew where the nearest locker was. It took a minute to get there. The design made it easy to open despite no power. Inside were three softsuits and one hardsuit, all blue. Since she wasn't going EVA and wouldn't be exposed to radiation, she went for one of the soft suits. It unfolded quickly enough in zero-G.

First, she inserted her legs into the suit's bottom half, one after the other. For a brief moment, her right foot caught at the end. The impulse to keep pushing until she pushed her foot through came and went, since that would only delay her. She forced herself to pull her leg back up a little, allowing her to shift her foot just enough to slip through into the magboot at the end. Afterward, she reached out and hooked her feet to the bar along the wall, effectively standing sideways in the corridor. With her legs in the suit, the rest was more straightforward. She removed her tool belt and pulled the suit over her arms. The last step was to move the zippers on the neck and chest to seal the softsuit.

She reached down to the attached portable life support unit and turned it on. The plastic faceplate had a digital display surface built into it, bringing up the air quantity remaining to her in the corner. The suit had a full set of breathable air, enough to last a few hours if needed.

She quickly retrieved her floating toolbelt, put it on her waist, and fitted the other tools into pockets on the softsuit. Then she unhooked her feet from the bar and placed them against the floor of the corridor. A tap of a button on the chest control module activated the magboots. There was a soft thunk as they came on and fixed her feet to the floor with a weak magnetic field.

The advantage of the softsuit, besides the ease of putting it on, was that it didn't impede her mobility in any way and enabled her magboots to let her run in a zero-G environment. She ran through the weightless ship back to the stern hold entrance, where Yanik and Henry were waiting to open the door. "I'm ready,” she said, her voice resolute and sure.

The two men pulled the door open again. Then the whistling sound came. There was a breach in the hull somewhere, and the longer the hold remained open, the more the ship’s remaining atmosphere would be lost. The moment the door was open enough, Samina squeezed through. The pull she felt through the thin, receding atmosphere of the hold told her the breach was likely along the upper sections just below the upper deck. After giving that a moment’s thought, she turned to bring the battery through. Instead, she found it already moving toward her, Yanik's tail wrapped around it. The tail uncoiled once it was partway through the door, allowing her to take hold of it and pull it through.

"Good luck!" Henry called before he and the big Saurian shut the door again. The whistling stopped, as did the slight pull. She was alone in the vacuum of the stern hold.

The holds all had connecting passageways to each other, so the two stern holds were linked normally by a corridor. Khánh's rebuild of the ship for the fusion drive system led her to expand them, turning it into the location of the housing for the fusion drive's reactor. Each hold had one of the two fuel tanks, with the machinery to pump the reactant material into the drive to be used. It was the starboard stern hold, so it had the helium-3 tank. The port stern hold held the deuterium tank.

For a moment, Samina thought it showed brilliance on her mentor's part. This mixture of reactants didn't require the sheer heat that a pure helium-3 reactor would need, and the radiation byproduct was relatively less than other, dirtier mixtures. Radiation-resistant materials and filters would make up for what radiation was produced.

No time for geeking out about how awesome Chief Khánh is. Get this job done! Or you'll never see Uncle Ali again!

* * *

Outside the hold, Henry waited by himself. He'd sent Yanik to retrieve softsuits for the both of them. With life support down and some of the remaining oxygen lost from opening the hold, they needed a fresh supply of air.

To his surprise, his commlink lit up. It was Tia's device calling him. He answered, "How is this working?"

"Piper set my unit up to use its own transceiver system," Tia explained. "It'll drain the battery fast, but for now, I can reach any commlink on the ship. What's our status?"

"Samina's trying to get the fusion drive going. Have Cera on standby."

"What about the inertial compensators?"

"The drive reactor can power some of our systems. We'll give compensators top priority, along with control systems. Everything else is gravy."

"Roger that. I'm up here at manual astrogation. Nothing so far. I've sent the others to the stern astrogation module and the gun turrets. They can call me with updates."

"Keep me informed." Henry shut down the call to preserve Tia's battery. I'm down here with Samina and Yanik. Pieter's got Miri and Brigitte helping him. Tia, Cera, and Piper up front. That leaves Felix, Vidia, and Oskar to be lookouts. If they board, we'll be too scattered to fight back. He pondered what to do next. They may not even board. We've got no power, and they think we're helpless. They could just tractor us along.

He shook his head. Either way, they needed their systems back. Henry resisted the urge to call for Samina to hurry up, even as he mentally counted down the seconds to the likely intercept.

* * *

On the Hathaway Clipper, Commander Zhung noted the distance drop below a hundred thousand kilometers. Soon, they would be in range for the shuttles to burn ahead and seize the vessel. Her orders in that regard were strict and straight from Admiral Hartford: take control of the Shadow Wolf as quickly as possible, separate Miri Gaon from the crew, and only then take the ship under tow for return to Pluto Base.

"The deployment is proceeding well," her first officer, Lieutenant Commander Deveaux, noted. "It looks good for our intended operations, doesn't it?"

"It does," she responded. "I look forward to the end of the war."

"I've put in my fifteen years for when peacetime begins," Deveaux said. "I'm looking forward to returning to Jauresbourg to see my wife and daughter."

"How are they?"

"Well enough," Deveaux said. "The SRDB cut the weekly ration by ten percent due to the famine on Gomulka. But they're still healthy."

"Once the war is over, the fleet can redeploy," Zhung noted. "We can demobilize soldiers and crew and deal with the resource shortfalls more easily. The ration cuts will finally end."

Deveaux nodded and remained silent.

Not that Zhung expected him to give an opinion on what would happen. Sometimes, she wondered whether the SRDB would follow through on the promises of the Social and Public Safety Committee in terms of the war, that after the defeat of the Coalition and their restoration to Society, the resource shortfalls would be over. There would be no more need for further sacrifices, and all would enjoy the fruits of Social plenty. But there are always the other threats. The Kelltan and the Oroj are on our borders too. There are rumors about the Jalm'tar Empire to Spinward. Will victory bring us peace? As Deveaux looked to her, Zhung forced the thoughts from her mind and kept her expression straight. Such skepticism had the tinge of anti-Social sentiment, and she'd come too far in her career to let any thoughts hold her back.

"Time to target?" she asked aloud, looking for work to clear her mind.

"We're entering the requested shuttle intercept range, tractor range in ten."

"Excellent." She shifted in her chair and waited to bring this operation to its proper conclusion. "Launch the Marines."

34

The empty void was the only thing Tia could see out of manual astrogation. For her, the hardest thing was to keep looking at it. Staring into pitch-black nothingness when her ship was reduced to the same was getting on her nerves. An automatic part of her brain wanted to panic at the entire experience. She fought to keep everything on an even keel.

She wanted to be angry with Jim for putting them all on the line to save Felix's suicidally faithful brother from Caetano. But every time the sentiment started to build, she thought of the comrades she'd left behind on Hestia and their horrible fates. She thought of what she wished she could have done to save them from public degradation, the beatings, the humiliations, and the deaths of many of them. When she considered it, she found she couldn't blame Jim.

It helped that it was easy to blame both their predicament and those memories on the same target—the League of Sol.

Her commlink beeped with an incoming message. As she hit the key to accept, she noted the battery life was down to seventy percent already. At this rate, she would lose power in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Having the commlink run its own network was too draining. Once her finger touched the key, she spoke, "Tia here."

"Tia, I think I see something." The voice was Oskar's. He was at the stern astrogation station. "I'm using my microscope back here, and it looks like an ion drive trail."

"From what direction?"

"Front. They're heading right toward us."

Of course they are. "Okay, keep me—"

"Wait. I'm seeing something… it's not easy to make out, but I think it's smaller drive flares. Like fireflies around a lamp."

"Keep me informed." Tia cut the line and called Henry. "If Oskar's right, Jim, they've launched shuttles."

"Damn," he replied. "Spread the word."

"Right." Tia cut the line to do so and felt for her pulse pistol. She knew the League would do to her what it had tried to do to Brigitte, what it had done to Miri, and it would be no different than what her comrades suffered after their defeat. She resolved she wasn't going to go through that. The last charge is for me, she vowed.

* * *

Samina's commlink lit up as she worked. "Kid, they're coming. Shuttles," Tia said. "How's the work going?"

"It's coming along," Samina answered. She knelt at the battery, tying the backup power cables on the helium-3 tank's pumping system into one of the four output jacks on the battery. She made sure to secure it with a wrench, tightening the connector into place.

She moved into the other hold and found the big, boxy tank for the deuterium. It was nearly a mirror of the helium-3 tank, including the same pumping system and the same power cables. She grabbed them and ran them back to the battery, her softsuit's magboots thunking across the hold's metal floor. The beam from her flashlight, still shifting around on her shoulder, gradually showed the battery ahead.

A sudden sharp yank kept her from continuing. She looked back and tried to pull harder, but nothing gave. Exasperated, she followed the cables back to their source—thunk, thunk, thunk—and immediately recognized her problem.

The cables were shorter than the ones on the helium-3 pump. They wouldn't be able to reach the battery.

Well aware they were running low on time, Samina rushed back to the battery and started pulling it closer to the deuterium tank. After several seconds, the cables to the helium-3 pump grew taut. They were at their limit. She retrieved the other wires and found that they were, again, half a meter short.

"Improvise," she muttered to herself, thinking of her work as a fetch tech. Dockworkers and repair engineers faced this all the time. There were ways to deal with it. She'd have to find a way to lengthen these cables. Replace them? No, they're built into the pumps. It'd be a major job. What about a second battery? Is there one that can run these? Or will Pieter need them to bring some of the other systems online? Think, think, what should I…

Tia’s voice broke through. "Give me an update, kid."

"I'm having an issue," Samina admitted. "The backup power cabling for the deuterium tanks isn't long enough to plug it in to the battery. I either need another battery or another way to get power to the deuterium."

"Make it work, Samina, because they're burning in. We'll have League Marines aboard in a few minutes."

"Right." She drew in a breath in a failed attempt to steady her pounding heart. The helium-3 could fuse by itself… no, the reactor vessel's not built to take that kind of heat. C'mon, Samina, think how you would do this back on the station. The cable's not long enough.

"So make a longer one," she said aloud.

* * *

Oskar's warning of the first shuttle approaching the port midship airlock brought Yanik running. He stood in the darkness and ignored the discomfort of the limited mobility his tail had inside his softsuit. He presented his weapon to the airlock and held steady, waiting for what might come in. To keep the boarders from realizing he had a gun sighted on them, his tactical flashlight was shut off. He wouldn't need it anyway, he reasoned. He would smell the invaders when they came and hear their armor clink against the hull. Visual senses were a human fixation his people didn't share.

There were times Yanik thought the universe ran on divine humor. God had an affection for irony, certainly. By dodging the draft for reasons of conscience, he led a life that was far more dangerous and violent than he would have seen had he decided not to follow his principles. It was as if God was mocking the idea of Yanik's critics back on Sauria, that only cowards refused the military service all Saurians were called to perform.

A sense of near euphoria came over Yanik as he waited for the coming attack. It was the physiological response of a Saurian body to the stress of imminent or active combat, to help with their natural predatory instinct. Humans were exhaustion hunters by practice, meant for outlasting their prey. Saurians were built to do the exact opposite, overwhelming their victims at the commencement of the contest. Having the brain active and ready for the action was a boon he had over others.

A thunk emanated from the airlock, the same one that just a couple weeks before was used by the League inspectors at New Hathwell. Leaguer Marines were coming through, and not to inspect lithium.

The airlock door slid open, and Yanik fired without warning. Yellow pulses shot through the dark corridors and into the airlock. The Leaguer in the door went down immediately. Those behind cried out and sought cover. Yanik lowered his rifle and squeezed the trigger again, bringing more cries. The enemy soldiers took cover inside their shuttle.

Bullets shot back at him, precise fire from chemical-propellant firearms, the preference of several militaries for ease of logistics and use. Yanik's softsuit offered no protection. Some struck his body, tearing flesh and drawing blood. He ignored the pain and the growing heat in his weapon and kept firing. It was necessary to buy time, since without the impediment, the Leaguers in the enemy shuttle could easily overwhelm everyone.

Granted, it would be for nothing if other shuttles managed to latch to the other airlocks or if they failed to get out of there.

* * *

"Their first shuttle's already here, Khan, and another one's getting close. Get moving!"

The warning from Tia rang in Samina's ears as her tool squeezed the clamp connecting the extended power cable to its connector. She immediately pulled it over enough to fit to the battery. The connector slid into place just as it was meant to.

She immediately got to work on the other cable. Her cutter severed the end of the wire just below the connector port. She took the extension she'd set aside and pressed it against the open, coiled wiring within. While one hand held the pieces in place, she fitted another clamp around it, one that would push the wiring together and complete the circuit. The clamp fitter came on next, and even in zero-G, she put a lot of elbow grease into it to ensure it was secure.

Once she was certain the connection would hold, she repeated the action to put the connector back on the lengthened cable. Her hands felt as if they were cramping, given the effort she was forcing from them to squeeze the clamp into place. She ignored the pain. This has to work. Allah, please let this work.

The clamp would not close any tighter. Samina pushed the connector into the battery. She got to her feet and ran—thunk, thunk, thunk—to the nearby manual control for the fusion drive's reactor. The emergency lever she found would trigger the backup starter battery to life. If she did it correctly, the reactor hardware would order the fuel-tank pumps to start, the battery would power them, and the helium-3 and deuterium would enter the reactor vessel and start fusing.

If she did it wrong, none of that would happen, and the startup battery's charge might grow too low to be used again.

"Inshallah," she whispered before pulling the lever.

For a moment, there was nothing, and with it came the terror of having failed.

Then machinery came to life, a low thrum filling the holds. The nearby monitor on the fusion-drive reactor came to life, showing readouts from the reactor itself. The fuel entered, and the fusion process was already underway. Plasma byproduct fed into the thrust system, and the resulting energy was flowing into the rest of the ship.

Samina laughed in excitement. She'd done it. Chief Khánh would be so proud.

Then the G-force slammed into her and knocked her into the reactor housing, hard. Pain shot through her ribs and belly. She let out a cry of pain and struggled to push herself away, with little success.

Despite it all, she was still smiling.

* * *

Light poured through the dark bridge as the control displays lit up. Cera noted that the fusion drive was already on and triggered the release on the outlet for the plasma. "We're burnin' out of here!" she crowed.

Tia and Piper had just enough time to steady themselves before the G-forces hit, the Shadow Wolf's secret drive alive and pushing them at high burn away from the incoming League ship. "Well done, kid," Tia murmured to herself while she felt her bones start to turn into jelly.

"2.5Gs and climbing!" Piper noted. "The inertial compensators don't have full power!"

"Doesn't matter! Cera, burn us until you're about to black out then throttle back!"

"Aye, ma'am!" Cera shouted. From experience, she knew her G tolerances were higher than the others. Odds were that she would be the last one conscious.

* * *

The sudden G-forces arrived just as Yanik's gun stopped firing. The timing was perfect for him, even as it drove him into the wall.

Because it did the same to the League boarding team.

One moment, they were trying to return fire from the airlock they were pinned within. The next, they were being hit by over 2Gs of acceleration. The sudden shock left them debilitated for a crucial moment.

* * *

From his place in the upper port gun turret, Vidia was in the best place to take the sudden G-forces, as the turret seat was built with crash couch functionality. It was still a wrenching experience, and it took him a couple of seconds to recover himself, a couple of seconds in which power flowed into the gun turret.

The indicators told him the weapon wasn't at full power. The shots would only be at twenty percent, far too low to penetrate a starfighter's deflectors but more than enough to blow up an unshielded shuttle.

Vidia used the controls to turn the ball turret to face the shuttle. He prayed silently for forgiveness from God for the lives he was about to snuff out before his finger tensed on the trigger. The sapphire pulses, weaker than usual, zipped across the handful of meters and ripped through the League ship without mercy. The shuttle didn't explode so much as fall apart, all but a small piece of it still moored to the airlock.

God save your poor souls.

* * *

The destruction of the shuttle did nothing to harm Yanik. The sudden exposure of the deck to vacuum, however, led to the usual problem posed to a ship with an internal atmosphere: violent decompression. A sudden force gripped him and ripped him from the bar he was holding. The same pulled the League boarders, living and dead, through the airlock and into space.

Yanik had only a couple seconds to react. Instead of fighting the pull, he let it bring him to the airlock door. At the last moment, his tail, defying the limitations of the suit he was in, whipped out and wrapped around the nearby zero-G guidebar. It was a painful experience, to say the least, such that he expected to find out he'd dislocated his tail. But it saved him from being sucked into space, and his grip on his favored weapon kept it from being lost to the void.

With one arm holding the cannon, the other lashed toward the airlock controls. Yanik's hand smashed against the panel with such force that he worried he'd broken it.

There was a bit of a whining whirr as the inner airlock door slid closed. The vacuum ceased to pull on him, and Yanik was able to find his footing.

His tail still hurt, though.

* * *

The moment the rear engines of the Shadow Wolf lit up, Commander Zhung knew something was not going according to plan. She barely had enough time to ask for a report before the flashes of light led to the clear loss of the first boarding shuttle to make it.

The second, just twenty or so seconds away from latching on to the starboard side when the deluge began, suddenly found itself burning toward the rear of the cargo ship. The pilot adjusted, confused and more concerned with avoiding a collision, but it meant nothing, as the sudden acceleration of the Shadow Wolf meant it was soon pulling away from the shuttle.

"Shuttle Alpha destroyed," Saratov reported. "There's decompression. It's pulled out some of our people."

"Task Shuttle Beta to pick them up," Zhung ordered. "Engines to full burn! Tactical, fire the EMP gun again!"

"Charging for another shot!"

Deveaux's expression was grim. "Their drives are too fast. We'd need someone from Zervakos's squadron to catch up to them."

"We won't need that if we disable them again. Their second drive will go down this time. Saratov, as soon as you can…"

"Firing in ten seconds!" he promised.

"You may hit our shuttles," Deveaux warned. "If they collide with each other in their formation, even with their engines dead…"

"Then we will remember their sacrifices in the name of Society," Zhung answered coldly. She would not be diverted from the foe Admiral Hartford had sent her to take. "Fire when ready!"

* * *

Pieter was ready when the fusion-drive reactor came to life. He had everything set up to restore power to the control systems, communications, maneuvering thrusters, sensors, and the ship's lighting, as well as what power could be spared for the inertial compensators and, given the enemy shuttle hooked to the ship, the anti-fighter guns.

He also reserved quite a bit of power to help kick-start the fusion reactions in the main cores enough to bring the deflectors online. Since that meant inferior performance in the inertial compensators, he was already braced for the G-forces that resulted from the fusion drive's operation.

Brigitte, also forewarned, clung on to one of the bars for zero-G movement. "The fuse replacement on the deflectors is good!" she shouted.

From her place, Miri glanced up. The G-forces were effectively pinning her against the Lawrence drive. Of the three, she was in the least comfortable position. "I'm not done here yet," she admitted.

"I didn't expect you to be." Despite the intense G-forces, Pieter managed to trigger his commlink. Given the situation, however, he missed the direct line key and hit the open call one, effectively transmitting to everyone on the ship. "Bridge, we have deflector power if we need it!"

"Understood!"

"And we'll need it," Oskar said. "It looks like they're charging a weapon for another shot."

* * *

Tia heard it. "Cera, evasive maneuvers! Piper, deflectors!"

"Aye!" both women shouted.

They both went to work and not a moment too soon, as a crackling burst of electromagnetic energy erupted from their foe and raced across the void for the Shadow Wolf.

35

The electromagnetic pulse crackled through space like a deadly bolt of lightning. And it was deadly, in its own way, to electronics and power systems.

Such was what the League shuttles between the Hathaway Clipper and the Shadow Wolf learned. The pulse rippled through all but one of them, and just like that, they were helplessly crippled, dead engines and lights, their crews unable to even call for help as they moved on through the void at the speed they'd already attained.

The pulse played over the Shadow Wolf's stern as it maneuvered "downward" relative to the shot, and was held back by the blue tinge of a deflector shield.

On the bridge of her stolen ship, Commander Zhung watched, heart plunging into her stomach, as the powerful drives of the independent ship continued to burn and gradually increase the distance from her vessel. She snarled in fury. "Fire again!"

"Fifteen seconds until recharge complete," Saratov said apologetically. "The device wasn't made for rapid firing—"

"Then fire when it is ready!" she demanded, her heart pounding. Success in the mission was so close, so close, and those damned individualist spacers were not going to get away from her.

* * *

For a moment, Tia was afraid they were doomed, as the lights dimmed and the controls blipped on and off. Then the effect dissipated, and everything seemed to be working.

"It looks like the deflectors absorbed it," Piper said. “I think we took a glancing blow."

Tia swallowed. "So if it's a direct hit…?"

Piper shook her head. "I don't think the deflectors will stop it. They're not getting enough power for full effectiveness."

"Right. Cera…"

"Ye don't need t' ask, Tia," Cera said. "I'll give th' sassenachs a fancy show. Let 'em try t' hit us."

Tia nodded and settled into the chair. The ship was moving, but they still needed to get away before the Leaguers called for help.

After another ten seconds, Piper cried, "They're firing again!"

Cera said nothing. Her hands manipulating the controls did all of the necessary talking for her, and there wasn't even a flicker. "Ha!" Cera shouted defiantly. "Gettin' soft, Leaguers, shootin' up innocent spacers is nae as fun when they've got a fusion drive!"

"How long until we're out of that thing's range?" Tia asked, her voice strained.

Piper didn't dare turn her head from her screen for fear of never getting it back into position. "Going by relative acceleration rates and current distance, I'd say another minute at least. At their firing rate, they'll get at least three more shots at us, maybe four."

Henry's voice boomed over the commlink. "Status?"

"They're shooting their EMP weapon at us, but the deflectors managed to absorb a glancing hit." Tia shook her head. "We're dead if they get a direct hit."

"Then let's make sure they don't. What about the boarders?"

"Vidia took care of their shuttle," Piper said, "and Yanik's sealed the airlock. I'm still showing what's left of their shuttle attached to us. The extra mass is negligible."

"We'll clear it later."

Pieter's voice cut in a moment later. "Just to remind you, ladies, I can't resume working on things until you bring the damn G-forces back down to something reasonable!"

"We're still trying to get out of their range. Stand by."

"Incoming!"

The next shot missed as well, much to Tia's relief. Three more to go…

* * *

Zhung watched the distance to the Shadow Wolf grow and felt deep, yawning despair in her. Battle after battle with the Coalition, and she'd come out alive through determination and adherence to proper Social discipline. She'd earned her place in the operation. But she could lose it all if she had to report such failure to Admiral Hartford. "I want full power on the drives!" she shouted.

"We're already at a hundred percent," Deveaux said.

"Then make it more!"

"It may not be possible. These civilian models…"

Zhung ignored him and keyed her intercom. "Attention, engineering, I want the drives pushed past one hundred percent. Do whatever you must. Anything less is a failure of Social discipline and will be punished accordingly!"

Saratov fired again several seconds later. The shot went closer than the others, again grazing the civilian hauler's deflectors, but to no avail.

"Drives up to one hundred five percent. One hundred ten percent." Lieutenant Lewis shook his head. "Commander, they're still out-accelerating us."

Zhung cursed the day the Coalition came up with the damn fusion drive. "Lieutenant Saratov, hit them."

"I'm doing my best, but their pilot is quite skilled," Saratov protested.

When he fired again, the shot was a near hit, not quite managing to touch the other ship's deflectors. "I calculate that we only have a chance for two more shots before they are out of effective range," Saratov said.

With cold fury in her voice, Zhung said, "Lieutenant, if you miss, I will have you arrested as a saboteur and denounced to the Security Directorate. Do you understand?"

Saratov nodded grimly. Zhung's threat didn't just mean his execution but the forced separation and resocialization of his family—parents, siblings, spouse, children—under the logic that he’d tainted them with anti-Social attitudes.

"Commander, I've contacted Captain Zervakos," said Deveaux. "A vessel is going to jump to our position, ETA five minutes. We're ordered to maintain contact."

Zhung nodded quietly. She watched in utter frustration as another shot crossed the distance and completely missed, due to a last-minute maneuver by the Shadow Wolf that pulled away from the shot's track.

"They're approaching maximum effective range on the EMP cannon," Lewis warned. "Engines are holding at one hundred twenty percent, but we're not gaining."

In the following seconds, An Rong Zhung existed in a state of hope and fear that came from knowing her future was entirely out of her hands. There was nothing she could do to influence the outcome in her favor. No trick left, no scheme, no idea. Saratov would either hit, or he would miss. That would be that for her. Her career would be saved, or she would be ruined. Years of effort, lost, without any hope of recovery.

She was utterly, completely helpless, and like all people in her position, she watched and hoped for the best.

"Shooting!"

Saratov triggered the weapon. The device triggered the EMP burst. For Zhung, time seemed to slow to a crawl, enough for her to make out the subtle waves of the EMP pulse as it raced across the distance near to the speed of light. The Shadow Wolf seemed to bank on the screen, pulling away to starboard as the shot looked to spear it right across the center.

There was an impact. Blue light flared. Hope filled Zhung in that split second, hope that the pulse struck strongly enough to overwhelm the deflectors of the other ship, to cripple it again, to make the entire effort worthwhile. Her eyes focused on the drives of the other ship, and she watched in growing horror as they didn't die out.

Several seconds of silence passed. Saratov shook his head. "Commander, I'm sorry. The target just moved beyond effective range."

Zhung said nothing. She quietly slumped into her chair, knowing it was lost. Even if Zervakos's frigate made the interception, she would be considered a failure. Slowly, quietly, she started to laugh at it all. Her mind buckled and failed under the knowledge that all of her work could be lost due to the fortune of others. She had no control over her fate, no matter how hard she fought, no matter how well she did. Decades of selfless service to Society had been for nothing. She would be dismissed as a possible saboteur merely on the grounds of one failure. That was what it was like when one lacked the connections to protect them from failure.

Her laughter grew until it was, by the standards of others, crazed. She would continue to laugh for some time afterward, in fact, even after Deveaux had her forcefully taken to the brig.

* * *

"They've stopped firing," Piper said when twenty seconds passed since the last shot. "I guess we're out of range."

"Cera, reduce burn until we're at 1.5Gs," Tia said. Cera obeyed immediately, and the strain on everyone died down. "Engineering, do what you can. Get the Lawrence drive back up immediately."

"Doing so now."

Henry came over the comms. "Everything's all right down here, although, Oskar, you'll need to look over our new engineer's mate. I'm betting she's got some bruises from those Gs."

"As soon as I can, Captain," Oskar promised.

Over the next few minutes, silence reigned. It was good, as silence was needed to settle their thoughts and nerves. Even compared to the Tash'vakal, it had been a close call to beat all close calls. We can't keep living like this, Tia pondered between button presses. Nobody can. It's too much fear. It reminded her of being young and living as a revolutionary on Hestia, eligible for arrest and forced labor just for having a party card. Half of the joy of the revolution, when it was attempted, was doing something concrete about that fear. It was a harsh lesson in how fears weren’t always deceptions but a healthy understanding of the risks in a situation.

Piper looked up from her board. "Wormhole! We've got a wormhole forming, seventy-five thousand kilometers zero-seven-seven mark positive two-zero-four.”

Great, more bad news. Tia gripped the chair arms and asked, "Do we have ID?"

"One moment." As Piper examined her station, Tia could already imagine the answer. A League warship fast enough to chase them down and catch them before they could jump out. All of that tension and work for nothing.

"It looks like a modified destroyer, combat capable, definitely not regular military or League," Piper said. "We're getting an incoming signal."

"Put them on."

The voice that spoke was thickly accented. "Vessel Shadow Wolf, I am Piotr Sergeevich Tokarev of the Morozova. You are carrying a woman who called herself Karla Lupa. You will hand her over to us."

Tia recognized the name. Pirates, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough. "Why?" she asked.

"Because she is an agent of the League who framed us!" came the aggrieved reply. "We've been looking for her for days to find out more about her masters' plot! Now turn her over, or we will come and take her!"

36

At first, Deveaux thought the other arriving wormhole was the incoming League destroyer, and he felt relief. It was only when he realized the form on his viewer was a non-League ship that he reacted. "Send to the squadron, cancel jump!" he shouted. This is a disaster. If a local vessel sees a League warship in the Trifid systems and reports it, the entire operation could be endangered!

"Sending signal." The officer shook his head and looked up. "Sir, I'm not getting—"

"Second wormhole forming," Saratov said. "It's the Peltast."

Deveaux could already imagine Hartford's heated reaction to the disaster. If word of a League Cobra-class destroyer moving around the area of Lusitania got out, it could jeopardize everything. "Warn them to eliminate all ships," he barked. "And maintain thrust. We must help where we can!"

* * *

At that point, Tia didn't dare think about how the day could get worse, given what it'd already brought. The holotank plot showed the arrival of the League ship in glaring detail. Just a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers, bearing two-two-four mark positive two-zero-zero. Piper was quick to identify it. "Destroyer, Cobra-class, going by the silhouette," she said, nervousness in her voice. Even without their ship still being two-thirds disabled by the EMP weapon, a destroyer would blow them out of space unless they got really lucky with their main cannon. It was the kind of luck they weren't enjoying. "They're hailing."

"This is Captain Giammalva of the Peltast," a man with a broadly Italian accent said. "Vessel Shadow Wolf, you are ordered to surrender immediately and prepare to be boarded."

Tia had a ready response. "Bite me, Leaguer scum," she spat defiantly. She nodded to Piper, who cut the call from the Peltast. Her communication with the Morozova was still open. "Captain Tokarev, are you still there?"

"Do you think this song and dance will trick us, Hestian?" was the skeptical reply. "You pretend to be opposed to League, but we are not fooled! Karla Lupa is League agent, sent to trick authorities into blaming us for ship disappearances!"

Tia sighed. "Right now, I wish I'd never heard that name in my life," she admitted with full honesty. "But they're really after her and have been since Harron. If you hate the League as much as the rumors say, well"—she smiled thinly—"then you might hate them as much as I do. That means we're on the same side."

After a moment of no response, Piper shook her head. "They cut the signal. From the look of things, the Morozova is moving to intercept the Peltast."

"They're the bigger threat," Tia noted. "Knowing their rep, they might even take them."

"Assuming they're not hit by th' EMP weapon," Cera pointed out.

"Either way, Cera, prepare for evasive maneuvers and get ready to go as high as you can on the drives again," Tia said.

"Against a military destroyer, the fusion drive's not going to be enough of an advantage," Piper pointed out. "They might even be able to overrun us."

"They'll be too busy fighting the Tokarevs."

The hatch to the bridge opened. Henry stepped in, worn down from the high-G burn earlier and visibly struggling, given they were still at 1.5Gs. He glanced at the holotank and asked, "What's going on?"

"We've got pirates on one side and the League on the other," Tia said.

Given the situation, Henry went for Tia's vacant chair. He used a grip on the arm of the chair to pull himself the rest of the way. He settled into the seat with visible relief. "Which pirates?"

"The Tokarevs. They think Miri's a League agent."

Henry sighed and glanced over at Piper. "Put me on to the Morozova."

"They cut the channel, but I'll try an open line," Piper said. "There, they'll hear you."

"Piotr and Pavel Tokarev, this is Jim Henry of the Shadow Wolf. We'll talk about Lupa later. The League's EMP weapon already disabled my ship once, so we're getting out of here. I'd recommend you watch yourself around them."

"That witch Lupa got a good man killed!" came a Russian-accented protest. "We will hunt you to the ends of the galaxy once we finish with your allies!"

"We'll see you then. Shadow Wolf out." Henry waited until Piper nodded before tapping at Tia's control for the ship's intercom. "Engineering, where's my Lawrence drive? We've got League and pirate company, and I want out of here."

"Fuse replacement's complicated when we've got to do them all, Captain," Pieter protested. "I'd say we have another ten minutes."

"Want me to send more help?"

"Would be pointless. Not enough room. They can start work on other systems, though."

"Then I'm sending them your way." Henry flipped to a shipwide address with a touch of the switch. "All available hands, report to engineering. We have a ship to get back into normal operation."

"League ship charging EMP weapon!" Piper shouted.

"Evasives!"

Cera began as tight a maneuver as she dared, but she needn't have bothered. The Peltast fired at the Morozova instead. The rippling blast struck the Old Believers' pirate ship square in the amidship section, where the pulse met a blue deflector shield.

"Looks like their deflectors absorbed it," Piper said. "I'm not showing any major shield loss at all for the Morozova."

Henry grinned. "Those things don't work too well on deflectors. Explains why they've not used them before."

"And how they've been disabling ships without warning getting out. Look how fast they hit us," Piper noted.

Henry pursed his lips together. "Keep us on a course away from the fight," he said as the exchange of fire between the Morozova and Peltast picked up. "Jump to Lusitania as soon as we can."

Given how things had gone so far, everyone expected another League ship to show up. To their relief and fortune, none did before the indicator on Cera's controls went green. With the stroke of a key, she jumped them out of the system and to safety.

* * *

The Hathaway Clipper's engineering crew did everything they could to burn the ship into intercept range. But Deveaux was confident they'd fail long before the Shadow Wolf disappeared from the screens.

This left the Tokarevs, a particular nuisance for peaceful League trade in the Trifid Nebula region. Their position allowed them to come about and burn for that fight instead. The Peltast's crew had the upper hand on the enemy pirate ship, and his ship would tilt the battle entirely against the Tokarevs.

Before they could get into weapons range, Saratov informed him of an incoming call. Deveaux swallowed, already sure who it was. He was only slightly relieved to see the cold, expressionless face of Commander Aristide instead of Admiral Hartford.

"We've heard there are—" Aristide stopped, a suspicious glint in her eye. "Where is Commander Zhung?"

"She had a failure of Social discipline," Deveaux replied levelly. It was a particularly cruel way of saying Zhung was a psychiatric casualty, but her bald threats against her crew meant no one would question Deveaux's choice of answer. "I had to assume command."

"I see. We have heard there were issues in the seizing of the Shadow Wolf."

With the knowledge that his future would be determined by how he replied, Deveaux cleared his throat. "They restored power to a fusion drive system just before our boarding parties could get aboard. We were unable to disable them again before they left the range of our EMP cannon. The Peltast attempted an intercept, but the pirate ship Morozova intervened. We are currently burning to aid the Peltast."

Aristide's eyes narrowed. "Do not. Jump immediately and return to Pluto Base."

"Some of our boarding shuttles were disabled when we fired the pulse gun on the Shadow Wolf. Can we go pick them up first?"

"No. Every second you remain risks the exposure of the operation." Aristide frowned. "Who caused the loss of our shuttles and boarding parties?"

"Commander Zhung gave the order," Deveaux said. I hope it’s enough.

"I see. We will deal with her when you return." Aristide nodded. Just as it seemed she was about to cut the line, she looked back up. "Since the gunner followed that order, he is guilty of sabotage as well. Arrest him." Her image disappeared.

All of the color left Lieutenant Saratov's face. He looked to Deveaux imploringly. "Commander?"

Deveaux sighed. There was nothing he could do. He nodded to the security detachment still on the bridge.

Saratov, to his credit, didn't cry or resist. He let them take him from the bridge, broken by the sure knowledge of his coming fate.

"Engage wormhole drive," Deveaux said. "Get us out of here."

* * *

It was a great surprise to the Tokarevs and their crew when the Peltast broke away from the fight and jumped. They'd been in trouble, there was no denying it, and couldn't imagine why the League wouldn't try to finish them off.

Piotr, in his command chair, let out a curse. His younger brother looked up from his station as second-in-command. "Post battle damage is light, Piotr Sergeevich," he said.

"Semyon Timofovich, do we have anything on sensors?"

"Scanning now, sir."

While Semyon scanned, Piotr scratched at his long beard. His raw grief and anger were still visible, but he was not so blind to what was in front of him that he could ignore what they saw.

"That EMP blast they hit us with, I have never seen such a weapon," Pavel agreed. "It may be how they disabled the disappeared ships."

"I will have the data sent back to Cyrilgrad for analysis. Doctor Zhikova should be able to figure it out."

Semyon looked up from his station. "I have League shuttles on sensors. Very faint trace, no power signature. They are completely disabled. Likely from their own EMP weapon."

"Are there life signs?"

"Yes, Pavel Sergeevich."

The brothers shared knowing grins. "Take us to them. We will learn what we can from them." Piotr said this, already looking forward to spacing the godless bastards once they were through with them.

"Brother, the Lupa woman"—Pavel gave him a knowing glance—"are you still sure she is on their side? None of this would make sense if it were a diversion."

"Maybe she was a dupe too. Perhaps she betrayed them too. I don't know," Piotr admitted. "But I do know we’ll find out, and if she is guilty, I will return her to the void we saved her from."

Epilogue

The Shadow Wolf arrived in Lusitania's system space right on point. Immediately, Cera killed the engine and let them coast, their standard procedure to hide the fusion drive. Even if they kept it dialed down, the drive byproduct was too different from their officially mounted plasma drives. "Engines out," she confirmed for Henry.

"Now, we wait for Pieter to get the plasma drives going again, and we can make planetfall." Henry unlatched himself from Tia's seat and floated free. Artificial gravity was a low priority at the moment. He was already looking forward to hailing Caetano, but then it hit him. There was something wrong on the holotank. Specifically, the abysmal level of traffic moving to and from the Lawrence limit.

"System Traffic Control is signaling," Piper said. "Putting them on."

"Vessel Shadow Wolf, the system is currently under security lockdown due to terrorist attack," the voice said in accented English. "You are hereby ordered to dock at Cardoso Station for immediate investigation."

"Traffic control, whatever's happened, we're on an urgent mission for the government," Henry said, mind racing as he wondered whether he should admit to working for Caetano or go with his known affiliation with Vitorino. He decided to hedge bets. "I'm sure the Defense and Trade Ministries both have us on file."

While they waited for a reply, tension filled the bridge. Whatever happened wasn't just some riot in Gamavilla between political factions, not if the authorities had locked the entire solar system down. Henry felt a chill inside of him at the thought of this situation causing harm to Jules as well.

"Identity confirmed, Captain Henry. You will land at Gamavilla Spaceport, Hangar 10D. Follow the assigned flight plan exactly. Any variation, and you will be shot down."

Tia's eyes widened in surprise. Henry licked at his lips. "Understood, Traffic Control. We'll need a few minutes to get our plasma drives back under operation. We suffered a short during wormhole transit. Please acknowledge."

"Acknowledged, Shadow Wolf. Traffic Control out."

"What the hell happened down there?" Tia asked aloud as soon as the channel cut.

"Oh shit."

Piper's words won her the amazed attention of the bridge. "What happened?" Henry asked, his tone nearly a demand.

"Someone bombed the National Assembly during a full session," she answered. "Most of the Lusitanian government is dead."

* * *

Paulina Ascaro woke with a splitting headache. Her thoughts were sluggish and undirected as her body reported lingering pain, her right hand being held, and a strange sensation in the left. She opened her eyes and looked down. She was in a hospital room, in a hospital gown, with an IV hooked up to her left arm that ended in a bandaged stub halfway down the forearm.

Her eyes traveled around the room. Her husband, Martzel Aiza, was seated beside her, and their teenage son, Xabier, stared at a digital reader. She tried to speak, but between the headache and other pain she felt, it came out as a low groan. Martzel, already noticing she was awake, brought a hand up to touch her face. "Paula," he said. "You're okay."

She blinked. Why am I here, again? Her mind refused to remember anything. She only had a few images and recollections of attending the Assembly. "What happened?"

"There was a bombing," Martzel said. "The Assembly." He swallowed. "Paula, it was terrible. Most of the others…"

Ascaro stared at him in shock. A bombing in the Assembly? That was a disaster for the planet, for their people, and for the democrats. It was the perfect excuse for State Security to seize power. "Who is… who is left?"

"I'm not sure. The RSS is refusing to confirm who else survived. They fear more attacks." He raised his eyes, and Ascaro followed them. Two dark-uniformed figures were visible outside the door. The RSS was guarding her or, more likely, watching her. "The system is under lockdown, beloved. No ships are allowed to leave. The military is patrolling the streets."

Despair started to fill her. Even flight was beyond their options. The incident would empower the fascists above everything else. Everything she believed in, a free and prosperous Lusitania, was likely to be crushed by Caetano's party and their enablers in State Security.

The positive side of the despair was that it cut through the slowness in her mind. Even the headache started to fade a little as her mind focused. In turn, she felt defiance build within, pushing away the despair. No. If democracy and liberty die in Lusitania, it will die well and leave a memory to inspire our descendants to reclaim it!

Martzel gazed at her. "Paula, you must recover. Now is not the time for speeches."

"I will regain my strength, but tomorrow, I get back to work," she said. "Someone is trying to destroy our people, Martzel. They want to subjugate us. But with God as my witness, I'll do whatever I must to stop them."

* * *

The report from Commander Aristide left Hartford in a deep, pensive mood. Gaon had escaped again, and the crew of the Shadow Wolf was more skilled than External Security anticipated. The threat over his plans persisted.

An incoming signal claimed his attention. A press of a key brought to his screen the visage of Admiral Seville himself. His eyes, one organic and the other an artificial replacement, focused on Hartford's face from across a thousand light-years. "Admiral Hartford, we are approaching the final moment. What is your status?"

"Our plan proceeds. Our Lusitanian ally has come through again. The bombing, as expected, leaves their government shaken and vulnerable. As soon as we complete final modifications to our most recent acquisitions, the fleet will set out for Lusitania." Hartford did everything he could to hide his concerns about Gaon from his expression. Seville would only see quiet confidence. "The timing is precise, and our captains know it. We will meet your expectations."

"Excellent." Seville gave him a significant look. "And there are no… complications?"

Hartford kept his expression, but he already knew what had happened. Aristide had reported the situation with Gaon. "A minor one, but too late to impact our planning. Odds are good that our resources on Lusitania will deal with them permanently."

"I should hope so, Admiral, for all of our sakes," Seville said. There was no threat or menace in his tone, but Hartford knew that results were expected, and if he failed, he would not enjoy the consequences. "I must be off. Minister Jenner requires my presence."

"Understood, Admiral. Hartford out." He shut down the comm line and turned to face the window. The last of the ships they'd seized, a helium-3 tanker, was being outfitted with another piece of salvaged Coalition weaponry. His fleet was at the desired size.

Doubt still gnawed at him. Miri Gaon was alive and free, and the ship aiding her had a competent crew that had already evaded two efforts to seize her. As much as he tried to push his fears away, he couldn't. His confidence in success felt more and more hollow, the more he considered these facts.

But regardless, Social duty still had to be performed. They'd come too far and worked too hard to be stopped, especially not by vermin like these independent spacers.

Hartford returned to the bureaucratic labors his position demanded, reassuring himself that it would all work out. The great machine of Society could not be stopped by the ship Shadow Wolf and its crew any more than they could stop a supernova.

That was the nature of things. Cogs, individuals, could fail, but the whole machine would not. They would succeed.

They had to succeed.

THE END

Breach of Faith: Book 2 - Breach of Faith:

Can Captain James Henry and the Shadow Wolf stop the League and stay alive? Find out now in Book 2.

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Breach of Faith - Book 2 - Breach of Faith: Sneak Peak

Henry's eyes moved up and down, from the barrel of the gun to Li's face. His eyes burned with zealous anger. This guy's a true believer, Henry thought to himself. More than the Third Class Inspector back on New Hathwell. He recognized that he was alive only because Li had a bigger plan in store. It gave him time. "It was just a job," Henry said. "We were hired to get our passenger back to Lusitania."

"Do you believe that matters?" Li shook his head once. "You would. It's typical of your people. You're all short-sighted, arrogant, and foolish. You don't grasp anything beyond your immediate wants."

"So we were just supposed to surrender?" Henry asked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Li shook his head. "The… individualism in this galactic arm never ceases to disgust me. You're all a bunch of animals, hurting and killing each other for baubles."

Li spoke the word “individualism” like the foulest word in the English language. Henry wanted to keep him talking, so he asked, "What's wrong with being an individual?"

"You might as well ask me what's wrong with murder," Li said. "That's what individualism is."

Henry, despite everything, found this comment interesting. Then again, all of my previous experience with the League was either fighting them or bribing them. "Just because I see myself as an individual doesn't mean I want to murder people."

"Doesn't it?" Li asked. "That's the truth about being 'an individual.' An individual is insignificant. Nothing more but a pile of urges and drives to be satiated while the reason, if it exists, cowers in terror at the inevitably of death. The individual is a hollow shell desperate to find something to fill the vacuum within."

Li spoke the words with barely restrained fury. Henry wondered where the anger came from. Before he could reply, Li continued as if only his words mattered. "Some of you ignore that hollow feeling. You embrace material wants and desires in your desperation to fill in the void. You became little more than voracious beasts, gorging yourselves until your appetites cannot be satiated, then the hollowness returns. And you go on, demanding more and more, to ignore the truth of your own insignificance."

Henry didn't say anything. For one thing, the longer Li spoke, the more time he had to figure out something, so why interrupt? For the other, he knew then he was in the presence of a True Believer 1st Class, someone to whom the League's ideology was set into the very marrow of his bones, such that he resented the refusal of the universe to bow before the blindingly-obvious truth he felt burning within him.

"And some of you instead turn to superstitions from millennia ago," Li continued, harshness in his voice. "What was once used by the unadvanced humanity of the old ages to explain the things their feeble science couldn't, you use to fill the void within, convincing yourself in the truth of those superstitions. You look to religion to give your meager lives direction. Purpose. Anything to fill the shell."

A retort formed and came from Henry's throat before he could stop himself. "You resent the competition, huh?" Li's nostrils flared at that, and for a moment, Henry thought he'd pull the trigger out of sheer anger.

Bad move, Jim. Never provoke fanatics.

After considering lunging for the gun, Henry decided to continue the safer course of biding time. "I'll take that back. Thing is, I'm not religious myself anymore, but I know plenty of people who still are that're good people."

Li laughed. "That's what the superstitious always say. They're good people, they love other beings. It's all lies, of course. The history of religion is ignorance, torture, and mass murder. It's a blight on humanity."

"You think you're better, even with all of the torture and murder the League's pulled?" Henry asked. He felt offended, if just for the sake of Jules and Vidia and men like Reverend Gill, the head of his family's church in Tylerville.

"We are," Li hissed. "Religion's a lie, and you know this deep down. You know your superstition for what it is. So the hollowness continues to gnaw and demand material pleasures to satisfy your urges. After all, look at yourself." When Henry glared, Li shook his head. "You were religious once, as you've said, and your record confirms. Then you were cast out. You could have taken up the cause of the workers and poor of your Coalition. You could have worked to make their lives better. Instead, all you thought about was your own happiness. Now look at you. Just another spacer fighting for scraps in the neutral worlds, bribing and smuggling and killing to earn a few measly credits. No greater cause, no higher purpose, nothing but your individual needs."

Henry couldn't keep the angry look from his face. His lips curled into a snarl. "You don't know shit about me, Leaguer."

"I know all I need to," Li said, his voice confident. He spoke with the tone of a man finally giving vent to pent-up feelings. "You're no better than the other individualist filth out here in this barbaric arm of the Galaxy. It sickens me to see human beings live as you do."

"Right," Henry scoffed. "In fact, I'm willing to bet your hands have way more blood on them than mine."

"I fight for a true cause!" Li retorted angrily. If there'd been a driver in the front seat, the ferocity of the shout might have startled them into a crash. "I fight for something better than petty individualist desires! I fight for Society!"

"And that’s supposed to be noble?"

Li nodded. "It is! We of the Society have found the only way to overcome the deficiencies of the individual. We fill the hollowness with Social awareness. Instead of being an insignificant speck in an uncaring universe, a person becomes a part of a greater whole. Their need for fulfillment comes from finding their place in Society and working, always working, to make it a better place. Instead of needing satisfaction for their base instincts, they find it in bonding with others. The weakness of the individual is swept away by the strength and unity of Society. And while death will still come for them, they can face the end of existence content in the knowledge that Society continues."

Henry swallowed. Not at the gun now quaking in the hand of a zealot, but at the sheer feverish force behind Li's diatribe. There was no room for doubt in it. He was a man who'd found his faith, a faith blinding in its purity. He believed in the League and its society with a devotion that matched, yet contrasted, the gentle warmth of Jules Rothbard's.

As aggravating as Jules' faith could be, it was tempered by kindness and compassion for other beings. Jules believed in a God of love and acted in that respect. Li's faith wasn't in a god or spirit but in an idea, the idea of humanity—indeed, of all sapient life—bound to an all-encompassing unity that stripped it of all individual thought and belief. Stripped not just of their individuality, but of hope, compassion, and love, anything that might distract from the soul-consuming devotion the machine demanded.

This was the difference between them. Jules wanted a galaxy where everyone lived in peace and brotherhood, and none went hungry because of the love in their hearts. Li wanted a galaxy where everyone lived in peace and brotherhood because they were molded and hammered into those places by a system devoid of love. A galaxy of beings reduced to cogs in a machine, with pain and death for any who dared question their place in that machine.

Henry's thoughts were interrupted by Li, shaking with his anger now being spent. "That's the truth that we came to the Sagittarius Arm to bring, Captain. When we’re done, none of your superstitious madness or self-centered prattle about 'freedom' will matter. Even if it takes us decades, centuries, of war, nothing will stop us from bringing you all into the glory of Society."

Henry whistled and shook his head, the reply surprising Li. "You're about the most arrogant man I think I've ever met."

"And you are the most foolish," Li said. "Now…" There was a tone from within his uniform jacket. He pulled out a commlink and spoke into it. "I am busy, what… ah, excellent." He grinned widely. "Excellent. Bring her to the embassy security offices. We will get the voice sample needed during her interrogation. And begin launch preparations for my ship."

"A pleasure trip?" Henry asked.

"Oh, Social duty as always for me, Captain," Li replied. "My people have Miri Gaon in custody." A wide smile formed on his face. "If anything, this should demonstrate the futility of your actions. Despite everything, the League has prevailed. As it always will."

CONTINUE READING NOW

Breach of Faith: Book 2 - Breach of Faith:

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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Acknowledgments

From Daniel Gibbs -

I want to thank first and foremost, Gary – for dealing with me the last year as we worked through four novels worth of ideas and characters in the Breach of Faith series.

As always, there’s a small cast of folks out there that have helped me along the way – especially David VanDyke and his constant support and encouragement. To everyone else – you know who you are; thank you.

Finally, to the men and women of the US Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Army, thank you for your service. It remains the highest privilege of my life to support you.

From Gary T. Stevens -

My thanks again to Dan Gibbs for the opportunity to create characters, worlds, and stories in his universe. We don't always see eye to eye but he's been very gracious on these matters… and on the word count thing. Definitely on the word count thing.

To Uncle Tim, who continues to patiently await the day a book appears with my real name on it. A day this work has brought closer to fruition.

And finally, I'm grateful to the close friends who've tolerated my prolonged distractions while producing this work and the books to follow, and to all of those who've expressed their support for my efforts.